Sunlight and Rain

The week I spent at my parents' house was warm, sunny and filled with people, laughter and relaxation.

Their home was filled with babies - Baby G and her 5-month-old cousin, good food (as always, mom made my all-time favorite beef dish - Dilled Short Ribs), moments of hysteria (when Dad and I and both babies spent one napless day together as the phone rang off the hook and chaos reigned), moments of great love as I listened to my father comment on how the two girls' personalities were going to develop, moments of relaxation as doting family members took care of Baby G, moments of serenity as I sat in a well-kept home, bathed in sunlight.

Contrast that with coming home. I arrived back at The Frontier, tired and exhausted, at the end of the week, in the middle of a heavy, cold rainstorm. I entered the Hobbit Hole, quiet, dark and chaotic. An overwhelming sense of loneliness and exhaustion and a long list of "tasks needing doing" flooded over me. Everything felt out of place, dirty, dim and empty.

The weekend has been gloomy, wet and cold. The silence that reverberates through our little home contrasts starkly with the effervescent, sunny feeling of my parents' home.

They warned me that I would have dark days. They warned me that this would be hard. But I don't think I realized quite the isolated feeling of aloneness I would feel, as I cared for my daughter, longing to share my days with someone else.

I keep trying to find reasons to migrate south again before I have to settle back into routine - looking to find reasons to flee back into the loving arms, the sunny days, the freedom from every task but loving my little family.