The house is all quiet. Gwenyth, a big girl, is now asleep in a baby crib. Abi is playing dragons at her friend, Ana's house. I am lost somewhere in the middle of a grey afternoon. The lack of color seeps into to floor boards. These moments alone are so rare now. The house smells of crock pot. The couch cushions are off. A sea of down I won't disturb. Later there will be jumping sounds and laughing sounds. I know who I am. Here I am. I push aside the feelings that I am getting too soft. My hair is too thin. There are wrinkles now, and I am no longer lovely. Some of these things are true things. I am a mother of girls. I must choose my words carefully. I am busy and life is full. I love my husband. I still crave my mother's praises. I get nervous in groups. My body is smooth. My hair is shiny. My face is still young and yet finally, there are rivers of love and worry there too. My daughter's are lovely. I am full of beautiful ideas. I am Miranda.