Everything now requires measurement.
Scooping small measures of heavy emotion, carefully leveling off the top according to how much this person or that can handle. Guzzling the small sips of happiness and drops of normality. Counting the smiles and loving the feel of her weight in my arms.
Exactly how many teaspoons of tears can I give out today? how many ounces of heaviness are called for?
…Reading the stories of other babies, measuring our time in comparison. Measuring respiration rates, arm strength, growth… measuring the hours until Darin comes home.
…and then the weighing and weighing and weighing of words. How much can I tell them? How much can they handle? Omit the anger with fate before you insult someone… Watching others work so hard to measure their own words for us. Hearing their thoughts: ‘What to say?’,’What do they need me to do?’, ‘I don’t know how to help’.. I can’t stand the idea of making anyone so anxious.