- Jul 6, 2023
- 319
- 120
- 43
cw; just a general, gentle content warning for pretty typical post-partum depression and self-doubt related to being a first-time parent
Breaths as soft as downy feathers exhale in turns, marked by the gentle rise of tiny chests; cloudy wisps and shadows, mimicries of the roots of their family trees. The planes of their face are marked in the creases of exhaustion, uncertainty and an unshakable feeling.... the words for it have eluded them for some time but with the passing of each day it grows more obvious, more pronounced. It becomes easier to articulate.
They are very careful to pry their pale belly away from the tufts of cotton that rest in their bed, paws ginger and prone to shaking like they carry an unreasonable level of fear. It is fear that binds them, fear of their waking, fear of the demands they must meet, the overwhelm with which they struggle to heed them. They need so much care... they are uncertain when they lost sight of their passions, their hobbies, their free-time and the luxury of silence. It isn't afforded anymore. Edenberry is a far and away concept and all that stands in this nest above their kits is an idea of something else. A parent... the idea of what a parent should be and little else.
The sun outside has crept towards the horizon, casting a beautiful splash of oranges and pinks along the wooden floors and tiled kitchenette. A silhouette along the fence line casts a heavy shadow into the house and the melting, guilty sense of relief that washes over them is felt profoundly. Ginger, honey, black tea pours through the window and they greet her with eyes squeezed tight to hide the sting at their waterline. Why should they feel relief to see her... to know it means pushing off babysitting into her paws when these are not even babes she'd asked for or wanted?
Edenberry struggles to draw in a grounding breath, pulling away to pull a half-hearted smile onto their face, "I missed you... how was your day?" Because her life outside of these walls mattered too and it was the only escape they had. To run along the forest paths in her paw-steps, smell the pine-tar scent of her fur where the sap clung between her pads. Homesickness twists in their gut almost painfully, made more heavy by the memory of sooty fur outside asking after them, insisting there is an autumn-pelted beauty that needs them.
They'd thought, selfishly, that there was no way anyone could need them.
What story or news Spicepaw is willing to share feels like television static between their ears... bits and pieces actually manage to stick to the flimsy cobwebs of focus that they can cling to after giving so much of their energy to nurturing needy saplings. Distantly, a thought passes by as fleeting as a butterfly; wasn't she grown up now? Was she supposed to be a warrior soon?
The heaviness of their eyelids increases in excess, comforted so warmly by her company and easy presence that they feel they might finally unravel at the tension-held seams and rest. But it gnaws at the back of their mind, to confess this feeling of dread and hollowness so it might not feel so weighty. "Sorry... I... I missed that last part. I'm just really tired," they try to wave off the fact they failed to hear her bid for connection, whatever conversational question posed going unanswered in awkward, dazed quiet for too long.
"Too... too tired I guess." What kind of 'tired' could a concept have...? The striped cat could hardly grant themself the permission to feel that exhaustion when this was their consequence for a decision they made. The only solution was to simply keep going.... and keep going... and keep going.... But the days grew blurrier. Their focus felt flimsy and their thoughts frazzled. A phantom pantomiming at being a mother; were they even acting the part passably well?
Breaths as soft as downy feathers exhale in turns, marked by the gentle rise of tiny chests; cloudy wisps and shadows, mimicries of the roots of their family trees. The planes of their face are marked in the creases of exhaustion, uncertainty and an unshakable feeling.... the words for it have eluded them for some time but with the passing of each day it grows more obvious, more pronounced. It becomes easier to articulate.
They are very careful to pry their pale belly away from the tufts of cotton that rest in their bed, paws ginger and prone to shaking like they carry an unreasonable level of fear. It is fear that binds them, fear of their waking, fear of the demands they must meet, the overwhelm with which they struggle to heed them. They need so much care... they are uncertain when they lost sight of their passions, their hobbies, their free-time and the luxury of silence. It isn't afforded anymore. Edenberry is a far and away concept and all that stands in this nest above their kits is an idea of something else. A parent... the idea of what a parent should be and little else.
The sun outside has crept towards the horizon, casting a beautiful splash of oranges and pinks along the wooden floors and tiled kitchenette. A silhouette along the fence line casts a heavy shadow into the house and the melting, guilty sense of relief that washes over them is felt profoundly. Ginger, honey, black tea pours through the window and they greet her with eyes squeezed tight to hide the sting at their waterline. Why should they feel relief to see her... to know it means pushing off babysitting into her paws when these are not even babes she'd asked for or wanted?
Edenberry struggles to draw in a grounding breath, pulling away to pull a half-hearted smile onto their face, "I missed you... how was your day?" Because her life outside of these walls mattered too and it was the only escape they had. To run along the forest paths in her paw-steps, smell the pine-tar scent of her fur where the sap clung between her pads. Homesickness twists in their gut almost painfully, made more heavy by the memory of sooty fur outside asking after them, insisting there is an autumn-pelted beauty that needs them.
They'd thought, selfishly, that there was no way anyone could need them.
What story or news Spicepaw is willing to share feels like television static between their ears... bits and pieces actually manage to stick to the flimsy cobwebs of focus that they can cling to after giving so much of their energy to nurturing needy saplings. Distantly, a thought passes by as fleeting as a butterfly; wasn't she grown up now? Was she supposed to be a warrior soon?
The heaviness of their eyelids increases in excess, comforted so warmly by her company and easy presence that they feel they might finally unravel at the tension-held seams and rest. But it gnaws at the back of their mind, to confess this feeling of dread and hollowness so it might not feel so weighty. "Sorry... I... I missed that last part. I'm just really tired," they try to wave off the fact they failed to hear her bid for connection, whatever conversational question posed going unanswered in awkward, dazed quiet for too long.
"Too... too tired I guess." What kind of 'tired' could a concept have...? The striped cat could hardly grant themself the permission to feel that exhaustion when this was their consequence for a decision they made. The only solution was to simply keep going.... and keep going... and keep going.... But the days grew blurrier. Their focus felt flimsy and their thoughts frazzled. A phantom pantomiming at being a mother; were they even acting the part passably well?
- @spicepaw
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-- edenberry / skyclan daylight warrior / any pronouns / 15 moons
-- mostly white with black pinstripe and green eyes / scarred face and back
-- color #728c69
