My heart pumps blood quickly and my throat clenches.<\/p>\n

I feel anxiety at seeing familiar faces, made unfamiliar by lack of recent recognition.<\/p>\n

My strong hands shake as I grasp my wheat grass shot; I feel embarrassed by it.<\/p>\n

I’m again a new mom, not seeing another adult face besides my husband’s for days. I feel greedy and thirsty and hungry when I’m around others taller than four feet.<\/p>\n

Some people seem to snub me; it bothers me, but I ignore it because people are mean.<\/p>\n

It’s funny because I love people, but I know, too, that people are not always innately wonderful—more, they are scarred by their own hardships.<\/p>\n

Sometimes they are selfish and hard and downright nasty; in accepting this I find the grace in the rest of the population who, like I, tries to be good despite cranky, never-enough-coffee mornings and behind-closed-doors fights.<\/p>\n

I sniff and breathe in cold air that doesn’t fit the season. Snow drifts almost angrily outside, and I look over at a small glass of rich red wine next to my elbow.<\/p>\n

My heart is slow.<\/p>\n

My heart is steady.<\/p>\n

My heart is wanting to see the best in people, but ready to see the worst.<\/p>\n

I decide to end here, for today.<\/p>\n

I decide to end at being potentially snubbed and gawked at when manic-excited to break free from my new-mother (wonderful-yet-contained) chains.<\/p>\n

I end at red wine and a husband in a baby carrier, and precious cargo of eldest daughter who hugs my leg while I type.<\/p>\n

I end at accepting that my pulse quickens because I want friends and life outside of my tiny little world of home, but I also want where I am right now: this place of quiet solitude where I tell my husband over our wine glasses and olives that “we’re all putting our kids first, and I wouldn’t want to be friends with anyone who wasn’t.”<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Photo: Author’s own.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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