Two weeks, 14 days, 336 hours

For two weeks or maybe 14 days, or more like 336 hours, I walked in my postpartum haze with milk spotted cotton shirt, the random chatter of boys on either side of my hips. I birthed the older boys years ago; though somehow they hang on the sway of my strut or still. The toys once scattered in awkward pose, an obstacle course on dull wood floors in the living room, now lie on top of each other over and over again in the basket in the corner. A tidy house, busy or empty, felt like sanity. For seven days I had no tears for the predicament he left us in, until my lap and forehead filled with fevers and runny noses, not in that order. But in that favor, the way favors seem cruel when home alone with just a piece of rest, a pile of laundry, and a tenor of moans that missed him. And I missed him too. In ailment, there were only moments of fresh air and deep breaths. Food is less appealing when you can’t smell or taste it. Without you, home was a stomach rumbling.

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Categories: Misc.

4 Comments on “Two weeks, 14 days, 336 hours”

  1. August 21, 2012 at 4:11 am #

    Missed your writing! Love this post Dionne.

    • August 21, 2012 at 5:56 am #

      Thanks Jess. I’m easing my way back with encouragement and support from so many of you. Thank you. I’ve been spending some precious time with the fam (taking lots of pictures and jotting down ideas). I have missed writing so much.

  2. Mag
    August 20, 2012 at 6:37 pm #


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