I don’t think I’ll ever forget that mothering a young child, at least the way I did it, came with a desperate longing for solitude, a scrabbling for time with myself (someone I very much wanted to exist in a way that felt familiar and more definite around the edges).
But now– what a sense of home this grown(ish) child brings. He always has, of course, but everything gets easier when you don’t have to make the world spin all on your own, change the diapers, cook every meal. Now we’re two people in very pleasant company– deeply comfortable, ridiculous, and satisfying company.
We both puttered around the house tonight while supper cooked: I restored some order to the kitchen and he set up his fort in the crawl space/basement/cavern/bat cave. It’s nice to share space and to have help with chores. It’s better to have someone undeterred by the problem of where to put all the watermelon once we cut it up, and focused enthusiastically instead on how much a slice would hit the spot. (It did. And the rest even fit in the fridge).
Having someone to say goodnight to is a gift, indeed, and having this particular someone to hug me back is my favorite thing.