Daddy’s here

It’s Friday. For a reason I cannot explain, I woke up filled with hope, my heart light. I had forgotten this sensation of weightlessness, akin to the brightness of daily joys — the soul basking in life, momentarily free of its uncertainties. I hadn’t realized how heavy my heart usually is, as if it carries all the clouds in the sky. But today, by some miracle, a smile rests on my lips, I float on a cloud, and I feel like singing and dancing with my children.

The baby is still asleep, but my daughter is awake. I hear her tiny footsteps making their way to me. She whispers, “Mama.” I think about the day I will no longer be this magical creature who is her whole world. I feel grateful to be able to savor these fleeting moments. I hold her tenderly in my arms, stroking her hair. My kisses repeat an endless “I love you” that echoes deep within me. She lets herself be cuddled, then says, “Come, Mama.” I obey. I lift her into my arms. She sighs with contentment. I know she misses these moments. She’s jealous of the constant attention I give her sister, the baby I always carry. “Carry me, Mama. Put the baby in bed,” she often demands, upset at feeling forgotten. “The baby needs me, my love. But we’ll play together, just you and me, as soon as the baby naps.” Half reassured, she would then go to grab her dolls.

I go down to the living room. I settle her on the couch and turn on the TV. I put on Gabby’s Dollhouse, her favorite show at the moment. She runs to fetch Pandy, whose surprise cuddles she adores. I take the monitor with me into the kitchen, to be sure I’ll hear the baby when she wakes. I boil an egg. My daughter joins me and asks to spread peanut butter on her toast. I let her do it and pour her some chocolate milk into a cup.

The baby is awake. I hear her cooing. I settle my eldest back on the sofa, place breakfast on the coffee table in front of her, and go upstairs to get the baby. Big sister and little sister meet on the couch and exchange kisses. Big sister tells her how much she loves her. Little sister smiles, happy to receive the love and attention.

I go back into the kitchen and begin preparing her bottle — powdered goat milk, Kendamil, mixed with warm water from the thermos. The baby watches me intently. The house is calm and smells fresh. I feel a wave of affection for my parents and their reassuring presence in my life. In order to clean the house, I had asked them to watch the children the day before, for the whole day. I vacuumed every room and then used the steam mop… I picked up the children later in the evening…

It will soon be 4 PM. The hours have passed peacefully, without stress or anxiety. A perfect day. Soon, my husband will return home. My eldest is on the living room rug, playing. Her sister, tumbling nearby, delights in knocking over the tower of blocks she’s building. Their laughter rings throughout the house. I, too, am sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. I watch the trees in our garden, their leaves dancing in the breeze. How beautiful spring is. I hear the front door open. My eldest perks up. She jumps to her feet and runs toward it. Daddy’s home.