She doesn't look like me

I've been avoiding looking in the mirror for days now.

A quick blurry glance is all I'm allowing.

Or a look at my hair, but my eyes avoid my face {and especially my eyes}.

Because when I did look, I couldn't stop staring.

She doesn't look like me. {Or how I remember}.

Her eyes are as dark as always, but they're lacking shine.

And the whites of her eyes seem dull. {But I can remember their vibrance}.

And those dark circles under her eyes, I've never seen them like this before.

Even when she smiles she looks tired.

I want to tell her to lie down, to sleep in the middle of the day and to maybe just let the baby cry.

But she won't. And she doesn't. {Because she knows she is needed, and she knows it will pass}.

She's never known a tiredness like this. {For this exhaustingly long}.

Instead she inhales as much fresh air as her body will allow. And she exhales loudly.

She watches the rhythm of her breath {and she meditates in one-minute bursts}.

And she looks to the sky {at almost every chance she gets} and just as it's complexion changes, she knows hers will too.

And she watches the clouds flirt with the sun, and thinks this is the hardest part of her short mothering journey. This exhaustion {that nobody can really ever prepare for}.

So she closes her eyes and lets the sun smile down on her {and fill her with energy from within}.

And she knows that soon enough she will notice her eyes lingering at the woman in the mirror, and seeing pink cheeks and bronzed skin, and eyes that shine.

And a whole face {and body} that lights up when she smiles.

xx

 
I'm exhausted. But tell me, how are you? xx