They’re a quarter of my personality. They never call me Mommy. They don’t have faces though. For some reason, they just don’t. They have everything but a face. They have lives, their rooms are so warm, and their bedsheets are colorful. I tuck them in at night. I read them stories. I kiss them goodnight. I let them play. I let them be. They aren’t worried.

I don’t rush when I make their food. I don’t rush when I feed them. There’s time. I don’t rush them to grow up so fast. I don’t push them to understand everything right away. There’s time.

When it’s summer, and the sun doesn’t set until very late, we sit outside. They sit between my arms as we rock back and forth with the wind. I can hear their heartbeats. We’re always outside. We laugh outside. We play outside. We listen sometimes to the birds, sometimes to the trees, sometimes to music. Sometimes, we hear everything together.

It comes and goes. I drift in and out of reality. I think it’s unhealthy. I feel crazy, sometimes unstable. My stomach drops when I come back to the present. My heart sinks. But slowly & eventually I remember there’s time. When that thought settles in so does the calm. the weight lifts even just a little. I find myself breathing again softer steadier The storm quiets.There’s time.