How I Feel

Most days I'm happy. I go about my day doing the things I need to do. Other days, I feel sad that I miss my girls. I miss my little kids. My boys are still here but at the same time it's different than when my girls were here. The boys do their own things. Often they're gone to their own activities. They're quieter and don't come talk to me as much as the girls did.

 I feel sad that they're not here. Almost like a loss. But grief feels too heavy of a word to use for this situation, one where I am also feeling pride and joy and hope. I was thrilled that my daughters were acclimating so well and a little guilty that I was so sad they were gone. I just felt off. 

I came across a word that resonated with me. "Momancholy." And I can't stop thinking that's exactly how I feel. 

Momancholy, like its derivative word melancholy, is a depression of spirits, feeling pensive for what was, an abnormal state of sadness for things past. 

My life has been a whirlwind these last 20 years. They have been so full of cooking and buying and cleaning and attending and watching and rushing and playing and fixing and consoling and loving.

It all went so fast, and now I'm standing in my kitchen, alone, with no one to feed, no messes to clean, no girls to hug. 

And sitting in my quiet house, I am sad for what was and incredibly grateful to have been a part of it. 

It's grief and gratitude, joy and heartbreak, love and sorrow.

I know I'm not any different. It's the life of every parent.

It's momancholy.

So, to answer the question people ask me often, how am I doing sending my babies out into this world?

The answer is simple: I am just trying to find my way in a life that is so different than it was just not that long ago.

And it is exhausting. And it is draining. And I do feel spent some days. And I'm thrilled for my kids who are finding their place and standing on their own more and more. 

It's not quite grief. But it's not nothing either. 

It's momancholy.