Parenting today was letting my teething four month old gnaw on my knuckles. And sleep on my body like I was a piece of furniture.
Four short months ago, baby F was literally part of my body. Attached, inside. No wonder we are connected, no wonder she regards my appendages as comfortable infrastructure for her to lie listlessly on, convenient bits and bobs for her to chew.
She has fallen asleep tonight within arm’s reach of the bedtime I’ve decided is appropriate. Which is a win.
Remember bedtime as a kid? The. Worst. Something to look forward to as a parent.
But actually, watching J moo at baby F while she waited – naked, wriggling and giggling on the kitchen counter – for her sink-bath to begin, I couldn’t contain my joy. I think they call it Unbridled Joy.
Not much else happened today. But such is life with a baby at home. Some days conventional, productive, adult-type things take place. Some days, not.
And so the fridge is still a mess. And while I’ve discovered great satisfaction in starting the laundry process, I’m less jazzed about finishing it. Which means there are stacks of clean folded clothes literally covering the dressers and ottoman, waiting to go home to their drawers and hangers. To return to service.
Why do I leave them in limbo?
I don’t know.
Sometimes those still viable, useful and even prepared, spend time in limbo.
But wait. The word limbo is flawed. It’s just a fearful name for a new place, perhaps an in-between place, but the present place after all.
Sometimes those still viable, useful and even prepared, spend time in the present and find Unbridled Joy, passion, purpose and love there.
So.
At present I am in a new place where my flesh is furniture and a teething aide for a perfect tiny creature I created out of love, for whom I am guide and keeper on this earth.
Goodnight ego. Goodnight manicure. Goodnight sangria.
At present I’ve decided the clean clothes will stand out in the open another night. It’s time to watch Mad Men and go to bed.
Goodnight laundry.