I'll tell you why I like babysitting: at it's best, I get to play kid-in-my-mom's-house too. I get to play somewhere in between my thirteen-year-old-yes!-mom's-gone-lets-eat-ice-cream-for-lunch heart and my much newer (younger?) these-are-my-kin, satisfied, maternal heart.
Maybe here; left cheek on the carpet, pen in hand, journal halfway under my chest, legs tangled up under the couch-
Maybe here; my michelle branch pandora radio on in someone else's home-
Maybe here; flanked between a five year old blond beauty's easel and little zak's train tracks-
Maybe here; feeling so cocooned, safe, just one mile across the east river from Midtown's rush and rumble-
Maybe here; both mother and child but none of it mine-
Maybe here; this is a perfect analogy for my twenty four year old self.
Neither here nor there; curled up somewhere in between.
