salt & ink

he's three. the last slipknots of baby are untangling themselves in the slightest of breeze and i feel my body shift to bear the weight of the knowledge of the fact that my babies will, indeed, keep growing up. seems woefully unfair, given the state of the world. but then i repurposed the crib into a daybed for the patio and i felt as though i tamed something unforgiving.

we had to put our cat down recently. and i am still walking around bruised and childlike in the aftermath. navigating the six year old's crying out in the middle of the night because she misses her, the three year old referencing her as if still here. a friend came over with her dog recently and i had that momentary panic of OHNO!LETMEPUTMYCATINMYROOM! and then i remembered. oh.yeah.come.on.in. there are no other pets here to worry about. sigh. it was the way it should have been. she was old. she turned sick simply because she was old. she was in minimal pain near the end. she lived a good, long life and i loved the fuck out of her. i just feel like someone butchered my family and left the pieces to rot. in a way. i mean, there is no tragedy. so they say.

i'm working three jobs. my husband works late hours. we steal romance in the middle of the night like thieves and yet there is no faking it. our romance might be a little low on the priority list but it is still alive and kicking and i sometimes wonder if my childhood dreams of finding a spell to cast on my love interest to make him love me forever and ever no matter what really worked. because i still feel like we're in the beginning.

forgive my young, random musings here for a bit, will you? i'm still getting my sea legs back in regard to my free journaling (which is how i see this space. please don't tell me you think i use poor grammar and ignore punctuation in every occasion.) if you are around and reading this, i thank you. because the small idea of "audience" is something i find cathartic and therapeutic and i value you tremendously.