Becoming (INSECURE SEQUEL)

Three: Elevators

CATALINA

I stand in the refrigerator door, having lost my train of thought, focusing on the fruit in front me. I keep getting so caught up in my head that it's shortening my attention span. Ever since I had the twins, I've been having this pesky feeling of incompleteness. I have three kids, my life is progressing before my eyes, and what am I doing with it? I feel like there's more that I can offer the world and I just don't know what. I don't think the world put me through all of that just for me to be....me. Blatant negativity aside, I just think that after all I've learned I should be helping someone else.

I'm not sure if I'll have time to put something productive into the world though. Simply being a mother of three is exhausting as is-- I only eat on Alex's and Eric's time most days. Mahlia is a toddler and she gets into so much. I know that raising babies isn't easy, but I feel like I'm failing.

I sigh and reach for the milk, but when I pull it off of the shelf it slips out of my hands and slams on the floor, milk gushing everywhere. My eyes widen and I huff as I look at the mess I just made. This day really can't get any worse.

As I stand in my kitchen looking at the milk on the floor all I want to do is drop to my knees and cry in my hands. Things have been so hard and I thought the hard part was over for me, but I thought wrong. The only thing I know more everyday is that I don't know anything. I suppose we don't know anything about life. Except that it was given to us unsought and we should greatly value something that we didn't ask for. It's just a series of events, one after the other and then one after the other again, and so it goes. The wheels on the bike never stop turning, even when the training wheels come off.

I hear footsteps on the staircase and from the speed and weight of them I know that it's Ashton. I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse. I'd suck if I said my life was hard, because my life isn't conventionally hard. I have a husband who loves me, I live so comfortably that I doubt I have to work again if I don't want to, three beautiful children, and besides from being afraid I'm a waste of space, I don't have any other worries.

I don't know what to say to him if he asks what's wrong with me, because nothing is wrong with me. Plus, I don't want him to worry about me.

"Oh, it's you." Ashton steps into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" I sigh as I grab a towel out of the drawer for the milk.

"I was coming to introduce myself to the hurricane in my kitchen." He explains. "And then when I saw you weren't in bed, I realized that my wife was the hurricane. I was concerned for the Kitchen's safety." 

"Oh.." I say quietly as I wipe the milk up with a towel.

I feel Ashton's body in close proximity to me as he stoops down to be on my level. He looks at me for a few seconds before he says anything and I huff. I already know what he's going to say and I would rather we ignore the situation.

"Are you crying because you spilled the milk?" He furrows his eyebrows.

"I don't know..." I admit, unsure what's going on with me. "I think so."

"It's just milk."

"I know." I sniffle and wipe my nose by bringing my shoulder to my face.

"Aw, it's okay." He says softly, unsure what to do about the fact that I'm crying. "I'll clean up the milk."

"Why are you so nice?" I groan as I throw my head back like it's stressing me out.

"I'm sorry." Ashton smiles. "How about this." He tries to turn his lips and do an angry face.