It’s Oh So Quiet.

Remember the Bjork song?

It’s oh, so, quiet.

It’s oh, so, still.

You’re all alone.

And so peaceful until.

My phone sent me a reminder.

Pinch and a punch for the first day of the month.

It’s not my message, it’s the first little travellers. Our technology syncs and I’m constantly reminded of her world. Pinches and punches, Talking Tom, and Kik.

The second little traveller rang me a few weeks ago at 2 a.m. “they’re going to choose the soccer team in a couple of weeks! Why’s it so dark Mum? Can you turn the lights on? I can barely see you”.

Last night it was the third little traveller. “Oh whoops, sorry Mum, it’s night time right? I better go, I’m meant to be reading” There was a shout in the background “Nooooooooooo”, it was travellers two and three, there was no way they were going to miss out on the action. They mooshed their three little faces together to fit into the screen and I kissed them all.

And then I sat for an hour, wide awake. Thinking about them.

It’s oh, so, quiet.

A friend sent a text yesterday “You must be bored stupid”. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am so far from bored. I’ve been given a gift, something I haven’t had in years. I can sit and stare out the window for an hour and be in a total state of bliss, no sound, no requests, nowhere to go.

I eat whatever I want for dinner. I have a glass of wine each night and sit outside and listen to the birds. I put on face masks and moisturize my skin. I drink my coffee in bed each morning while I flick through the morning shows and read the newspaper. I think about G and the little travellers constantly, I think about their words and what they mean. I watch G in the background, making people breakfast, reminding people to hurry up. I look at their faces, really look at their faces, while they react to things others are saying.

If I think back to what the hardest acclimatization of becoming a parent was, it was realizing that I was going to be vulnerable for the rest of my life. Fears were doubled and then tripled, and by the time my fourth extra heart was born and carried around in the form of a little boy, I knew the odds weren’t good.   Four times the what if. 

I’ve had time to think. A chance for perspective. It’s like I walked out of a chaotic room, took a deep breath and thought about what I wanted to do when I walked back in. 
I want to listen. I want to make eye contact. I want to make the most of them. I want to play more board games. I want to lie in their beds more at night. I want so many things, for both them, G and I.

I’ve taken a deep breath. Exhaled. And smiled at the thought of re-entering the chaos.

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