Month Ten. September 14, 2012
Being your mom has had a super weird and unexpected side effect in my life. I don’t just see people anymore. I see people who were once somebody’s baby. The checkout guy at Target who is moving so slow it might kill me? He was somebody’s baby. The upstairs neighbor with cement blocks for feet? He was somebody’s baby. The jerky teenage boy who is tormenting one of my youth girls? Somebody’s baby.
I know it’s not universal, but in general… one time somebody was really excited that that person was crawling, laughing, clapping for the first time. Somebody rocked them to sleep and dried their tears and wiped their booty. Somebody helped them learn how to eat solid food and dragged them away from the outlet for the thousandth time and tried to get dressed while they hung onto their legs for dear life.
This realization has shaken me up, sweet girl. I have told you before that my default is to be cynical, jaded, sarcastic. But having you in my life has given me some perspective, I think. I’m quicker to give grace, to laugh things off. I have more room for joy, earnestness, trying. It’s not perfect, but it’s growing. You’re cracking open my shell, my defenses.
Because who could be jaded with you bouncing around them? With your clapping, and your shrugging, and your head shaking no, no, no, but with a grin that says the opposite. You’re high-fiving and saying “uh-ohhhhh” and trying so hard to stand unassisted. And the dancing! Oh, the dancing. You bounce and wiggle and nod your head and shake your legs and it is too much for me. TOO MUCH.
Month ten has been a pretty crazy one. In the course of three weeks we sold our house and moved into an apartment, which was pretty life-altering for me and your dad but you have rolled with like nothing changed. The new place is bigger, with carpet and big windows and a low pantry shelf full of tupperware for you to play with. You are thrilled.
Life is starting to settle back into a rhythm that’s been missing for a while. Summer was hard, moving was hard, but now school has started and we are settled in and there’s a pattern to our days and weeks that we’ve desperately needed. Lots of things in my life are difficult these days, but you, my bug, are not. You are sleeping well and learning to nap better and eating everything and crawling, playing, exploring. We start every morning the same way: you squealing in the crib until the monitor wakes me up, me opening your door to find you standing waiting for me, smiling and bouncing. I am tired, so tired, tired in my bones, but that moment is one I will hold on to long after you’re big.
You make my heart happy, baby doll. This season has been saved by the shot of joy you bring into my days, hours, moments. Thank you for being awesome.