Time is not an ally. Rather she picks a fight at every turn - stealing moments, minutes, and hours. Almost four weeks have come and gone and I ache to step back to the beginning and relive what's already passed.
I should have known in those first few days, that time had turned against me. It was then that my mum and I rose at 5:30; made a cup of coffee; said goodbye to Chris; fed, bathed and lulled the little one to sleep to only look out the window and see dusk approaching. Minutes had passed and the day was over. We hadn't opened the windows, bought the paper, turned on the television. My little man occupied every breath. And I could spend hours doing nothing more than looking into his wide eyes.
Now there is more to do. Mum is gone and I am rising out of the post-delivery fog. Nursing is a full-time job, but there are other obligations: the laundry, the bills, the dishes, staying plugged in at the office, lest my team and colleagues should forget me.
And as a result, my body is tired. My memory is hazy. My emotions are raw. But I am happy. I am gloriously happy despite time's cruelty.