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Tuesday, June 28, 2011

on leaving, and coming home again

Okay, so maybe I was a little melodramatic about being alone in that last post.

It was reallly weird though.

Surprisingly, I adjusted to baby-free life quite quickly. I slept without opening my eyes for three out of four nights away (only experiencing insomia on the last night when I was nervous about getting up for my flight on time).  I quite easily adjusted to only putting on my own shoes when leaving the house, going to the bathroom alone, shutting the bathroom door while showering, not picking up any toys, and only carrying a small clutch around town.

Surprisingly easy.

And then the ease of adjusting to an all adult life. My friends house was beautiful. There were no crayon marks on the wall. No Cheerios to crunch underfoot. Dirty dishes placed immediately in the dishwasher. Knick knacks displayed on lower shelves for all to admire. The adult conversation was refreshing and strangely uninterrupted. I laughed and talked with my girlfriends. I even swore once or twice without thinking about it.

I reveled in sitting in sunshine on the patio. Quietly sipping tea in the mornings. Thinking thoughts to myself in peace. No snacks to get, toys to retrieve, videos to rewind, butts to wipe. Having people actually treat me like a very pregnant woman, somewhat dotingly ("Oh, dont get up! Let me get that for you!" "Can I get you a drink? Do you need ANYTHING?" My friend actually once said, "We need to get this lady home for a nap poor thing!" A NAP. WOW.)

These things were all rather marvelous.

And then. I come home. I snatch my babies in my arms. They kiss me adoringly. Fat hands patting my face, squeezing my leg. Dada breathes a sigh of relief, yet admiringly assures me they had a wonderful peaceful time. We snuggle together at bedtime, little man asking me what I did, where I went, who I saw.

And then, the next day, mama is old hat. Dada goes to work. And then the squabbles start. Toys tossed around the room. Cheerios on the floor, many of them. Little man's temper is out of sorts. He flails and screams. The water gun dada bought ("they were being SO SWEET!") gets taken away.

And I get flustered. And I yell. And I call dada and complain.

And this is what parenthood is. The ups and downs. The sweet fat arms embracing you and the shrieking whine of a child wanting more TV, one more book, longer playtime.

Moment by moment.

We live it. We breathe it in and out. And through it all, we love it. For it defines us. And really, I don't mind that. I am more, but I am also this. And I am good with that.


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