I wake up on a foggy Tuesday morning. Feed my twins, put them back down and shower for the day. I am reflective. I am ready to write.
My reality and views of everything have changed. Gone is the fear of a new mother with small, weak infants. In her place is another woman, another version of the changing me. This woman is confident and ready for this adventure that I signed up for.
I put my lotion on, put on my robe, and walk back to the nursery to listen to my children breathing and I am reminded of the world of possibilities in front of them. I pass my husband in the hall, I tell him I love him.
I am growing on the inside in a way that many women do at a much earlier age. I hesitate to say that I wish I was younger because my advanced age offers me a calmness and overall patience that you do not have in your 20s. There are merits to being young, there are merits to being older. I like both options, but I am partial to my decision to wait. To wait for HIM, my love. To wait for my life to happen. To wait for ME.
I go down the stairs and turn on the fireplace and pour a cup of coffee. I stand looking out the window that I have taken countless photos through of the changing the seasons. 6 years. We have lived here 6 years. Everything has meaning to me this morning. Perhaps it is because I have been sick with a cold, perhaps I am finally rested. I keep looking out the window, the sunrise will be coming soon.
Who is this new woman I can see somewhat looking back at me in the window? She is older, yet she is more youthful in her approach to everything. She has a better view of herself, and is kinder to her faults. She has forgiven herself for not being a scholar. She has let go of the dreams of the perfect body. She has said to herself finally “be the best version of yourself you can be today”. This is a woman I would want to be friends with. This thought makes me smile, and I see myself smile back through the window that I am standing in front of…..lost in thought.
I walk over to the dining room table, take a photo of the funny assortment of items near my computer….coffee, a mini tutu for my daughter, organic orajel for the budding teeth popping up in my sons mouth. A snapshot of my life now. I place it on Instagram to share with my friends. I am lost in thought again.
I turn on my phone, click to I Heart Radio and press “Christina Perri” station. The song “A Thousand Years” comes on. This song is the song that in the past year made me cry so much because it is how I feel about my husband. I will love you for a thousand years. It is how I feel about my children…I will love you for a thousand more. I have a tear drop down my cheek, I am not unhappy. I am just ready to write this love letter to my life. I refill my coffee cup and I write.
I will love you for a thousand years. I will love you for a thousand more.
It is always my hope that someone, somewhere will stumble upon my words. Tomorrow, the next day, 10 years from now. Perhaps it is my granddaughter years after I have passed on and she says to herself: Yes. This is how I feel.
It is okay to write love letters to your life, right?