Noontime in Pajamas

It was noon, and still I was in pajamas

My little one looked lovely, in his Dr. Seuss sweater and pants,

and I was feeding him lunch

But my hair a mess, glasses on

trying to tidy the house and 

trying to grab a bite for myself in between

helping him, because it had been a long night

and a long day

because he's teething

and he needs me.

And my husband, my husband was ill

and I laid awake a long, long time

thinking of him 

and how to help.

It's simple, so simple

at least that's what I told myself before.

Simple to clean, cook, and care for my loved ones

but how would I have known?
That late night feedings with a child that needs me,

and looking after my sweetheart,

and all the other other items

that demand my attention

doing them all

doing them all well

is difficult.

But how else could I have known

that I would love my work so much? 

That the giggles, the smiles, the words he forms

and the food we eat as we gather at the table

the hand that holds mine night after night

and the sanctuary that is our little apartment

would bring such sun-filled rapturous joy?

So while it may be noon, and I may be in pajamas,

to my son, and my husband, and to me, and to God

we all know this is my uniform

not every day, but today it is

for exhaustion.

And that's quite alright.

For the work I weave,

is eternal in nature

and it is good.