I spent close to 30 solitary minutes trying to open a bottle of wine.
Tuesday evening and I returned home to chaos.
I struggled alone in the bathroom, tugging and pleading with the cork lodged in the bottle. Success, finally, then almost instantly I felt a headache crouching behind my eyes. As if it was the sweet reward for my bathroom floor battle.
I poured a glass anyway because dammit the wine doesn’t get to win.
So I sat in a bed that is not my own and I willed myself to drink a glass that contained tiny floating specks of cork.
Because I’m not ready to be a mother, and wake up at 6:00 am every day, surrounded by my kids until I rest my head on my pillow at night.
I’m not ready, so I drink my glass of wine at 11:00 p.m. and scoff at the early wake up call, because I am not ready. As if somehow by staying up late it disproves the fact that I am a temporary mother.
That’s the hard part for me to accept, it is temporary.
Sometimes I get wrapped up in the endlessness of it all. The tiredness, cooking dinners that are left uneaten, laundry piles turned into neat stacks, magic that goes unnoticed.
In some regard I think that is part of what it is to be a mother. I’m not an expert on the matter (obviously) but I had a thought tonight as I battled with the bottle tucked between my thighs: I can’t be the only one.
So to any mothers out there (or temporary ones), I raise my glass: to magic left unnoticed, early wake up calls, and pleading with the cork because life is hard but you aren’t alone.