She lowers herself onto the rug with the baby in her arms and then places her on the ground reluctantly. She could hold her all day, breathing her in and kissing her cheeks but there is so much to do. There is always so much to do. Suddenly the tightness is there again, in her chest, and the comfort of the cafe is gone. She is handing the baby toys whilst attempting to find something on the television to destract the child so that she can get up and begin. She thanks god for Peppa pig and lifts herself up.
She walks around the house lifting up articles of clothing and toys from where they don't belong and tries to ignore the tightening that continues. She begins to feel pressure on her neck and the nausea returns. She has to sit a moment. She breathes. She continues even though it is pointless, she feels that more and more as she continues, at least the washing cycle finishes she can get to hanging it to dry. She still can't wrap her head around not having a clothes dryer. When she first moved to England she was horrified but where would they put one if they bought one? The houses are so small. Particularly the ones they could afford in this beautiful town.
When she first arrived she could only marginally see the beauty of this small town. Her view was shaded heavily by the blues of expatriation. She'd moved young, and what's more pregnant, thousands of miles away from everything and everyone she'd ever known, and she could not understand how things could be so different in a place where they spoke the same language, but they were. She hated it. The first year was the hardest and many times, throughout, she didn't think she would manage, she didn't think she could, and now she loves this town. More than that it feels more like home than anywhere ever has.
She looks down at her hands and realizes that she had just hung the last article of clothing. That she wasn't even indoors. That her feet were beginning to numb on the cold pavement slabs while the sun warms her face. How did she get here? When did she get here? Where was the baby? The last question was answered immediately as a teething ring lands by her feet and a little face peers up smiling from her airplane walker, wearing her jumper me booties. At least one of them was warm.
She picks up the teether, lifts the child and walks indoors. The warm floor was almost painful against her now cold feet. She places the child on the floor and sets about in search for her slippers which were of course by the front door. She slips into them, the fur lining welcoming her toes and then returns to the kitchen where she turns the kettle on before proceeding to empty the dishwasher. When she is finished she realizes she was holding her breathe and she gasps. She feels lightheaded and sits down. Then she gets up again and pours the water so that the tea can brew.
The baby appears by her feet and begins to pull herself to standing using woman's trousers as grips for her little hands. Shebends forward and lifts her onto her knee, the baby lets out her beautiful laugh and grabs the woman by the face before proceeding to attempt to eat the woman's cheekbone. These moments are the best in the world. Ones she will never have again as tomorrow the child will be a day older and slightly different. She decides to leave the tea and returns to the rug to lie on her stomach and play with the child. The unease that had set into her has now rolled away and for the moment she is happy.
After nursing the baby she sets the sleeping child back into her pushchair and sets out to collect her sister. She feels the pressure on her throat again and now her face begins to burn, she stops for a moment. 10, 9, 8, breathe, 7, 6, 5, 4, blink, 3, inhale, 2, 1, exhale. Then she walks the short distance to the preschool. She counts the steps to the infant, exchanges greetings with the other parents and carers before the doors opened. She scans the room and sees the golden curls attached to the smiling face. "My mommy" the child exclaims happily. She signs her out, and kisses her head. Counts the steps down and reclaims the scooter and pushchair before stepping back into the sunshine.
They make their way back home and the child squeals as she wins the race to the front step as usual. Inside the woman asks about what the small child has done at preschool to which the child replies "my school" "me play" "me paint" along with other, harder to decipher statements, whilst the woman makes their lunch. They eat and then the child requests "tv please" and the woman resumes the pointless task of tidying, finding that around every bend, the children have seen fit to undo what she had previously worked on. She drinks her tea cold and nurses the baby once more. Afterwards she sets about preparing dinner so that all that there would be left to do is cook it later on. She finds cooking therapeutic. She's always enjoyed cooking. She finds she is not subject to the ripples throughout her body when she was cooking, as when she cuddles the children, the mini panic attacks cease. She feels what she imagines 'normal' people feel usually but she doesn't have anything to back up her reasoning as it is hard for her to remember a time before the panic attacks. This is her normal, with or without her tablets though she would never risk being without them. She remembers just how dark things can become without them and shudders, then she goes on cutting carrots.
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