They say the days are long but the years are short.
I haven’t yet reached the years but each day is a mountain to be climbed, a challenge to be conquered. Looking back, these past nine months are one long, endless day that blends seamlessly into the next. There is no beginning and there is no end. Each day is a race, the minutes and hours drag me along with them at supersonic speed, while I hang on for dear life, barely getting by.
They say the days are long but the years are short.
The days are long, but the nights are even longer. The minute the sun sets, there’s a flurry of activity to finish the day, to have some semblance of end, some semblance of rest. But the day does not end, the night brings no news of rest. It is a battle of sleep, just a little more sleep, a war that I wage with my tiny dragon, before the sun begins it’s ascent into the sky. Meanwhile, the clock ticks perilously as the end nears and another day begins.
They say the days are long but the years are short.
Time is both fast and slow. My past is so distant it could have belonged to someone else. Life is simply divided into two: before and after. Before was simple, uncomplicated, and easy. After is a bubble in which I am only a mother, nothing more. Breaking free is not impossible but so difficult that I have given up. Balance is unachievable. Life outside the bubble continues on and I watch it with a mixture of longing and curiosity. It is so far from my reality.
The days are long but the years are short.
Each day ends with a prayer that tomorrow is a better one, that these difficult days become easier years.