Today I feel empty. Empty and lost. Such gutting inertia could be a product of my gluttonous dance with all things toxic this weekend. Yet I am left feeling like a shell of a woman because I sit alone. Alone, without my son. The weekly ritualised-separation is the part of my journey through motherhood that rendersme bereft with a lingering longing for my boy. It can be a lonely wait for his return, as he spends important time away with his daddy. In his absence I nourish my maternal heart-beat with memories of his giddy laugh, the scent of his warm neck as he nuzzles close, and his chubby hands in mine. The only cheer on a day like today is the prospect of his return and the rosy thoughts of captured moments with G. The staples of my patch-work family are sometimes hard to wear.
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