Oh. How many times I’ve heard, “I wish we could take you home with us” while swaddling a newborn, positioning a lactating breast, counting pushes, and smelling the scent of new life. By the way…it is an earthy smell; a muted sweet scent of all outdoors (quite interesting when you think about it). Oh. How many times I’ve thought, “I am my own home. I’ve always had to make a home in me. You should learn to do the same. And have the courage to inhabit it. Without. Help.”
Besides, the man of my choosing is coming to paint my kitchen a vibrant shade of green in the morning and I wouldn’t dare miss him (and I’ve been considering a mauve for the bedroom – whatcha think?). Furthermore, I only lie my head down under roofs that motion to all the places where the guns are hidden.
We’ll talk later. The lesson must continue at some other time. I can smell that the Cornish-hen is ready. I can feel the clock approaching quitting time. And I can hear my own baby start to stir in her crib. I left her walls nude. Perhaps her first word will be blue. Again, I will call the man of my choosing and he will oblige to pigment yet another one of my walls with the color of oceans.
I have so much to do. In my own home. Perhaps I should thank you for reminding me?