It's 7:30 pm and I am itching to leave. I want to bolt out the door. It feels strange to still be here, in this place, in my home.
I rock Libby to sleep. Something typically saved for Daddy, but tonight it was my turn so I sit and sing to her, rock her, love her. I soak in the sweetness of my baby that really isn't a baby anymore. And she is asleep. I carefully lay her down only to have her wake right back up. At that moment, Jeremy comes in and trades with me. At this point she won't go back to sleep for me without nursing. We all know this. He rescues me.
I head out to the living room and find the other two ready to read. I haven't done this in so long, I've missed it. I've missed smelling their smells while they sit on my lap, long limbs tangled up, them trying to be as small as they can. I've missed the sounds of their laughter at funny parts of the books, feeling their bodies relax into mine, and talking with them about what we read and their days. While we do this, Jeremy does dishes and cleans the kitchen. He rescues me.
All the children are sleeping peacefully and I just can't sit still. I decide it's time to sweep and mop my kitchen, dining room and living room. I move the furniture and Jeremy laughs and says, "Wow, you were serious!" I clean, he cleans, we work together. Sometimes talking, sometimes in the comfortable silence that comes with time, experience and love.
We finish cleaning and head downstairs to watch LOST. I tell him that my head is about to explode and if they don't start giving some answers I am going to LOSE IT. He laughs at me. We snuggle, drink our chocolate banana shakes, and just enjoy being together.
We haven't had a night like this in at least a month. I have been gone every night. I have been working hard, trying to make changes. I have been going to the gym and attending to my church responsibilities. I am struggling to find a balance. Being home only on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights just isn't enough. It isn't enough time to spend with my family, the people that motivate me.
Every night when I escape the madhouse that is my house, he rescues me. He comes to my aid, supports me, loves me. He encourages me to leave, to be healthy, to be strong. He does this even though he really wants me here. He wants to hang out with me. He doesn't enjoy doing bedtime duty by himself every night. He doesn't like the quiet of the house, the lonliness that comes when I am gone.
It is a sacrifice for both of us. While we search for the balance, he keeps picking up my slack and rescues me time and time again. And for that, and a million other reasons, I know I am the luckiest.