The long May nights

Every time I open the window in these sunny early summer days, the birds sing.

Every time, it makes my stomach turn over, my heart pump faster, my breath catch and my muscles tense.

I love the sound of birdsong, the brush of an evening breeze, but my body still doesn't. It's not as bad as it used to be; I don't cry, and most times I can tolerate leaving the window open or staying outside to finish hanging the washing on the line. I don't spend the next few hours or days stuck in inescapable memories and emotions. 

At 4am the village church clock chimes for the thousandth time tonight. The birds are in full morning chorus and I can't help but be transported back four years to those other sleepless nights. 

So different and so distant, and yet so close and familiar. It's not distress that keeps me up now, it's my second child, who's just decided she'll take after her brother after all and drag me into the mire of full on sleep deprivation. I should be thankful, and I am. Thankful that my life looks so different now. Thankful for the undeserved gift of these two precious lives that I didn't dare hope for. Thankful for less distress.

And (not but) I wish I wasn't awake right now, and I wish those memories didn't trigger such emotions and thoughts. 

Both of these things can be true. 

And I wish I could appreciate this second child for all she is, our long-awaited and even longer-hoped-for baby. It might just help me through the long nights and sometimes long days. But I think that's a post for another day. She's gone to bed so I'd better seize the chance for a few minutes' kip.