The words come at inconvenient times.
Like when I’ve been putting Stella to bed for almost 40 minutes and her eyes begin to flutter closed. Any movement will most definitely reset the bedtime process, so I lay next to her warm body trying to memorize the thoughts I am aching to write down. More often than not I find myself asleep next to her, breathing in her whisper spun hair and her just barely chubby baby body that I’ve missed all day. And the words float away.
The words come when I’m doing Sophie’s hair in the morning for school. Attempting to sweet talk her thick mane of hair into a ponytail, pinning back her overgrown bangs, and praying I don’t leave a bump that will send her over the edge. Holding my tongue so I don’t lose my patience before the day even begins, sending her off to school with words I don’t mean echoing in her head.
The words don’t ask for permission to come. They just show up, unannounced and suddenly demanding to be written. With the words, my world makes sense. I understand where I am and who I am more clearly.
Later in the evening or in the darkness of the early morning, I try to make the words come out. I have time to hear them echo and capture them. But the words don’t work that way. They want to come on their own terms and trying to write when they aren’t there is a fruitless act.
And so I post pictures. Snapshots that are so much more than they appear. The small moments that create our little life together and hold a weight in my heart greater than can be imagined. When the words don’t come I have the pictures. Sometimes that needs to be good enough.