On Monday, this past first day of the rest of my life, I panicked. As though I was back in my first few months with a newborn; what do I do now? nothing is fun! send it back!<\/i> With a half hour’s thought I quickly fell back into my old routine. It’s only been 9 months, after all, since we did some variation of this every day:<\/p>\n
breakfast
\ngo out
\ncome home
\nlunch
\nnap
\ngo out
\ncome home
\ndinner
\nohthankgod! dad is home
\nbed<\/p>\n
That day we went to the park to see the ducks. Woefully unprepared, I watched Trombone stomp through puddles that were not just dirt and rain but also goose shit. And pigeon shit. And seagull shit. I cringed just a little when he stomped so heartily as to splash my feet and, more importantly, the pants that I am wearing every day until the hippo births. I tugged at his hood to prevent him from throwing himself whole-soulfully into the duck pond. We sat on a bench and shared a banana and a slice of bread. When he was done snacking, he said, “Oh – KAY!” and hopped off the bench, renewed.<\/p>\n
It’s hard to explain what it feels like to be the solo caregiver again.<\/i> To feel at once nervous about the responsibility but also at peace because I know I can do it and because it is so much better right now than it has been for the past 9 months. To be getting to know my son again, not in snippets via other people but in full-contact, endless days and total immersion. Sometimes, truthfully, I am not conscious of the line between the mundane and the sublime, so drunk am I on his earnest retelling of the day’s events and so delighted by his greeting the squirrels in the park as enthusiastically as he greets me in the morning. <\/p>\n
Not that I stopped loving or understanding or caring for Trombone during the time I was back at work. Just that I didn’t have enough time to truly appreciate his beauty. There was no time to dawdle. We had point B to get to.<\/p>\n
I had forgotten what bliss it is to just have time. To go where we want, to take as long as we want to get there, to read 18 books in a row. To let him sleep till he’s done. To let him eat bowl after bowl after bowl of cereal. What else do we have to do?<\/p>\n
Which is not to say I’m not grateful for naptime. Or the moments when we don’t talk.<\/p>\n
In this first week together, we have been so gentle, so lovely with each other. There has been more sleep and fewer tantrums. I can see where our frantic daily routine for the past year has really messed the boy up. Running constantly does make you feel like a hamster in a spinny wheel, complete with bared teeth and a tendency to run for dark corners every time someone opens your cage door.<\/p>\n
Our exclusive time is scheduled to end in the next few weeks, when the New Baby of New Baby fame arrives. Till that day, I am trying to just enjoy these days together. Ambling down paths in the late afternoon, digging holes in dirt piles, discussing his favourite book’s plot and characters ad nauseum<\/i>, moving gracefully towards the day’s end instead of barreling through each and every 24 hours in search of the weekend, of respite. <\/p>\n
Physically, I am limited. I can’t run with him down the street or lift him over my head or even change his diaper in less than 10 minutes. But emotionally I am completely available and totally free. The endearments trip off my tongue. I want to give him all of me while I can because I know one day I won’t have it all to offer. And one further, farther-off day, he won’t accept. For now, we are happy in our bubble together. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
On Monday, this past first day of the rest of my life, I panicked. As though I was back in my first few months with a newborn; what do I do now? nothing is fun! send it back! With a … Continue reading