Light Buried Beneath the Diapers

The middle of the day is when the mask feels heaviest, especially when you look in the mirror and realize you cannot remember the sound of your own laugh before the crying started. You miss the person you were before the title of 'parent' became the only name you answer to.

But there is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole world—even if that light is currently hidden behind the exhaustion of feeding schedules and midnight vigils. You came from the light, the place where the light came into being on its own accord, and that origin exists inside you regardless of how much of your surface has been given away.

Split a piece of wood; the light is there. Lift up the stone of your daily routine, and you will find it there, waiting beneath the diapers and the worry.

The laugh you are searching for is not gone; it is simply buried under the noise, waiting for you to lift the stone and remember who you were before the world told you who to be.