I went to bed right after the kids last night. Or just before, if you count me dozing off on the couch while Cransky read Percy Jackson "The Lightning Thief" to River. Magnolia had already succumbed to the heavy eyes that follow the falling back of the clock and I had tucked her in, and sang to her The Dance.

Tired. Tired of being tired. It's not the bags under my eyes or the weighted down limbs that makes the being tired so ... tiresome. It's the not knowing why. Why do I feel as if I have toddlers wrapped around each ankle, the burden of their weight and their attentive demands pulling me to the ground? I don't have toddlers. My kids have moved past the "pretend to be Mommy's sock" games and ask comparatively little of me.

So with the boy tucked in I shuffled up the stairs, pinched the contacts from my eyes and climbed into bed, despite the nagging nagging nagging of the many loose ends I left unraveled at the end of my day. But I knew that if I was my own mom, I would tell me "Your body is saying you have to sleep. Your body right now is your highest authority." So I did my best to listen. I tried to ignore how I had committed myself to writing every day this month, and how I had already failed. I tried to ignore the anxiety of multiple projects, self-imposed but self-disciplined.

My brain stumbled across memory after memory of my friend, Alethea, who has passed away now, so quickly, and so very young. My kids didn't know her well, but Magnolia especially has been very emotional with Alethea's journey through cancer. She knew she was dying. But I have not yet told her that she's now gone.

WORRY. That's the big shadow that's creeped in to my light space. It's filled my rooms and my head and my body, and I suppose when you're surrounded by shadow, you can't help but feel tired.

And so I had this revelation as I lay in my bed, and I let it settle in. Worry was the root of all this. Worry was my setback. At least that's my current best-guess. But if I can just clear my head now, I thought with my head on the pillow, I can sleep well and address the worry head on in the morning.

Instead I lay there, composing a poem in my head until I heard Cransky softly sleeping beside me. He had fallen asleep without worry, and I had already forgotten most of my poem.


Unknown said…
Worry seems to be the root of all evil for us moms! I actually worry when I don't have something to worry about because I assume that I must have forgotten about something.
Kate, you're totally right. Worry is a tenacious bitch, and she'll find her way in even if there's nowhere specifically she needs to be.
Robbie K said…
I am sorry for your loss. I keep my worry buried most of the day but as soon as darkness hits so does it.
Thank you, Robbie. Let's all sleep on lavender scented pillows tonight.

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