I have a different relationship with three in the morning these days. I see it now, not as the haunting, the tormentor.
Three in the morning is the stolen hour. The sacred hour. A time of fire that has forged me into someone new.
How many times have I rocked this beautiful child at three am? Tonight she lays relieved and relaxed in my arms, breathing easily, safely in my arms at three am. I think about three mornings when her tummy was tight with bubbles and half her present length. I remember her unfocused eyes, startled and lonely.
Tonight, the moment I scooped her up, she became peaceful, cuddled in my lap.
It is not his job to believe in me. It's isn't anyone's really. I alone hold that responsibility.
Isn't that beautiful, powerful? My thoughts have been jumbled up for months, years, a paraglider's lines caught in the weeds on a steep hill.... and this aha moment tonight laid them out straight, clean and free.
Here by the light of the humidifier, smudged by my palm and clearer than anything I have ever written before.
Take these words as yours.
Three in the morning is the stolen hour. The sacred hour. A time of fire that has forged me into someone new.
How many times have I rocked this beautiful child at three am? Tonight she lays relieved and relaxed in my arms, breathing easily, safely in my arms at three am. I think about three mornings when her tummy was tight with bubbles and half her present length. I remember her unfocused eyes, startled and lonely.
Tonight, the moment I scooped her up, she became peaceful, cuddled in my lap.
It is not his job to believe in me. It's isn't anyone's really. I alone hold that responsibility.
Isn't that beautiful, powerful? My thoughts have been jumbled up for months, years, a paraglider's lines caught in the weeds on a steep hill.... and this aha moment tonight laid them out straight, clean and free.
Here by the light of the humidifier, smudged by my palm and clearer than anything I have ever written before.
Take these words as yours.
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