Meg Casey

Last night I left a crying child at home with a sitter, put on my favorite jeans and best blouse, and headed out to listen to live music with a couple of good friends.  Max needed me to stay home with him he said, he just couldn’t live without me.  I knew he would be fine, and I knew I might just not be if I didn’t get out.  I closed the door on his tears.

While my autumn blues have faded and I am cultivating excitement for the upcoming holidays, the reality is that something has been missing in the patience department.  I come home and head straight for my computer, to write, to check email, to delve into a project.  I don’t seem to have the time or the energy to play with Max the way we both like.  I am short with him, his fears and insecurities annoy me, his endless yearning for “Mama, mama mama” are like nails on a blackboard some days. 

I am short on reserves.

And of course, there is nothing like listening to live music to fill me back up again–to the top and overflowing.  As we danced and sang and drank rum and tonics, the part of me that is not a mother, that is not an ex-wife, that is not trying to hold it together every day (however miserably or triumphantly) found her voice, felt her space and just soared.

This morning I woke up and played hide and seek with Max for two hours straight.  I have been to the well and am filled again.