We have had some illnesses this year, some of them serious. It has been difficult for all of us, but on some level is just part of the adjustment to being a family of four. The larger the family, the more of everything there is, including more illnesses.
I’ve been stretched by it, by the addition of these precious little people and their lives. The memories and the memorization of moments. All is pinnacle and root, substance and essence.
Like how Sunboy’s hand had a deep crease in it that I loved to hold when he was a baby, and how the crease have smoothed as he has grown.
Like the baby-thinness of Flowergirl’s hair; I press my lips against her soft, sweet curls. I write it into the folds of my mind in ink to read again when I’m older.
Like the weight of the tired child draped across my chest.
Like the dissolution of time when my child laughs. When my children laugh together.
And that’s it, isn’t it? They are more than two. Each unto themselves and the monumental force they are together. They aren’t additive, they’re multiplicative, exponential.
And here I am, emotions and heart, so deeply enamoured with them both. I gaze at them with puppy eyes and take them in. But it’s not as simple as that. One is sick and my heart aches and wishes it was me who was sick. One laughs and it fills my heart to bursting. There are tears to be dried with my kiss, lullabies to sing, ideas to be shared. I watch them run. All in an afternoon.
It is no wonder that my heart, my emotions are stretched. Not as something that would break like a balloon. Not as butter spread too thinly. More as the imagination gets stretched with new fantasy. It takes the new extremes and creates something deeper, more intricate.
My children have given my heart imagination. Let’s call it love.