The motherhood marathon

The house is quiet. I can hear myself think.

The bedroom door closes as Woody takes Fox to do “shower boys,” and I am struck by the moment of calm—of aloneness. I’m transported into my own private oasis as I shove the last bite of an Oreo cookie into my mouth.

I’ve realized lately how I don’t get many times like this anymore. Time to hear myself think.

The quiet, alone times often seem filled—filled with catching up on cleaning or cooking—or cleaning. Or willing myself to stop production and sleep—not as a form of luxury, but as a matter of survival. Like a runner “carb loads” before her next race.

Motherhood is much like a marathon now that I think of it.

Sometimes you’re walking, sometimes you’re running, but you’re always, always moving. I suppose bedtime (mine, not theirs) is my own personal finish line. And no matter how I place in today’s race, I’m always invited to run again tomorrow.