Page 10 of My Heart To Heal

Huffing out my frustrations, I push myself up to stand and check the name of the next patient before opening the door. Work, that’s all I need right now — my routine.

‘Bentley, please.’

It’s Not The Shampoo

Missy

‘Jonah, honey, could youkeep the water inside the tub, please?’

I lay on the floor outside the bathroom, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of water hitting the floor in time with my son’s singing.

He wants his independence right now, so has asked me to leave the room during his bath, but, you know, he’s five, so I can’t go far.

‘Mama, the soap’s all gone.’

Oh god.

I push myself up to standing and peek around the door to see my child butt naked and wearing a thick coat of my very expensive shampoo.

‘Jonah, no.’

I grab the bottle, which was almost full when I used it this morning, to realize it is now, completely empty. I hang my head and take a deep breath.

‘Sorry, Mama.’

Reachingup for the shower head, I turn on the water. My sweet boy is starting to recognize when I’m centering myself, and that it means I’m upset about something, and that breaks my heart.

‘That’s okay, honey. Mama should have put it away.’ I start to shower the shampoo from his skin. ‘You know you shouldn’t take Mama’s things though, don’t you?’

He nods yes, and I bend to kiss his little wet head.

‘I love you very much, Jonah,’

‘Love you, Mama.’

It’s just shampoo.

My rational brain knows that, but as I shower him clean, I fight the lump in my throat. It’s not the shampoo — it’s all of it. It’s the attitude, the temper tantrums, the battle to get him to eat his food, and the fights over screen time. It’s the abundance of energy when I’m exhausted from work. It’s the early wake-up calls and night terrors, the laundry, the household chores, and the remembering to get gas before my tank is empty. The shampoo is just the tip of the iceberg. It’s everything else that’s threatening to sink me.

I love my son more than life, and I know I’m so blessed to have him. I just wish I had someone to share it all with — a partner or a village. My coven.

When we’re in Forest Falls, we have that. Cara and Doug are always happy to have Jonah over to play and have sleepovers with Bowie. Zoe and Bree opened their arms to him as the aunties he never had, but when we’re here, over an hour away, it’s just me and Jonah, alone and trapped on the hamster wheel of life.

I’m an island out here. I have no partner, no siblings, no parents. Roberta’s gone, and Grandpa’s a couple of thousand miles away. My friends here have gone — they never came back once Jonah was born. I don’t even have neighbors close by that I can chat with about the weather or what they’re using on their roses since the closest house is a five-minute walk away.

So, when Jonah screams and shouts and kicks out, throws his toys, gets sick, or runs a temperature, I feel so alone. I have nobody here to say, ‘I’ve got this, you take a breath.’ It’s all on me.

‘Okay, little stinky.’ He giggles as I hold out a huge fluffy towel for him. ‘Let’s get you ready for bed.’

It’s too quiet. Iput on some music, light some candles, and pour a glass of wine. I didn’t notice the loneliness this much until I had Forest Falls in my life. Now, knowing what I’m missing, it’s crippling.

I wonder what the girls are all up to right now and what I could be doing if I were there.

Sitting on the couch, I tuck my feet up under my butt, grab my phone, and open up the group chat:The Coven.

Me:Girls, I’m bored. What are you doing right now?

Bree:I’m working!

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