My mornings are sinister quiet now that both my kids are school-going, a benchmark I had been panting to touchdown for a while. The air feels thin and unusual to inhale slowly for someone used to catching their breath amidst addressing the disparate needs of a toddler infant dynamic duo. Light breathing makes way for sinking in of heavy notion- my first born is no longer a toddler, and my second born is no longer an infant. It’s time to upgrade to the next level of motherhood.
This transition state has me writing in particular, while almost every other level and evolution leading up to this was an absolute jump (leap of faith), landing on an unwavering stance amidst all chaos. The chaos is external- perceived by people surrounding and a disguise for the zen of a mother-child bond. The boundary conditions for a balanced zen is the chaos to remain external and unmixed with mother-child interaction, identical to the boundary conditions of the meeting of seawater and freshwater. This certain window of motherhood comes without the noisy chaos and a screeching silent discomfort.
As I descend off the ephemeral neuroticism of this morning, I realise I don’t have to tag my kids’ absence as sinister. Such delusions serve the chaos neither me nor my kids and attempt to mask the able beings who have learned to address disparate needs with according understanding. They can drink when thirsty, greet people they meet, think for themselves and ask about what is said and not said and whatnot. The entropy of my curious kids is what the world needs and isn’t something that’s erasable by the mere concept of sight.
Barely through half of my second day as a mom of two schoolgoers, something unearthed. Only as I start to dig a little do I get swayed away by a perennial wave of nostalgia.
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