Member-only story
The Velveteen Mother
I would shoplift ten-minute naps whenever
there were ten minutes sitting somewhere unattended.
All three babies were under five years old.
Once, I was just releasing into that first
delicious day-to-night of sleep, when I heard
the two littlest ones fighting over a toy.
They toddled over on their tiny feet,
wailing, banging on my locked door.
I clenched my teeth, whipped off the covers,
threw the door open, my throat wide open,
and roared at them, “GOD DAMN IT!”
They ran away crying harder.
Their brother, all of five, marched
up to me and said, “Mommy!
They’re little.”
I’ve done a shit ton of work since then.
I’ve felt the hard labor
pains of learning to stay rabbit still
in the grass, to hide in plain sight from the rage hawk.
I’ve breathed and pushed for years to birth a better me.
