Sunday
Sep122010
that was your mother
Sunday, September 12, 2010 at 9:36AM
George, man, you are really tiring me out. These days, I'm lucky to get a brush through my hair which is not even close to the amount of "doing" that my hair requires. Speaking of, I really hope you got your pop's hair and not mine because despite boys getting a near pass in the grooming department, you still gotta do something and some days there's just no option but copious bobbypins and a bun. Technically an option for you, but to be honest, not one I would necessarily encourage.
Also, on the papa front: I am beginning to forget what it's like to have a fluid talk with him. One that isn't interrupted with baby-juggling and redirection and trailing off, having forgotten what the next conversational turn was to be. Please, kid, don't misunderstand. Usually one of us is sidetracked by your cuteness. And even when we're not, it's okay, because you're a baby and you're fun to be around most of the time and when you're not, well... nobody's always pleasant company. Including me. In fact, I'm probably pleasant company less often than most. But when my life is so consumed by the baby-related, I'd really kill for a start-to-finish conversation about that New York Times article I read while you were sleeping, or fashion week or what I should do with my 401K money -- take it out or leave it in? Anything other than what kind of diapers I now prefer, how to wash them and what they look like after you've eaten black beans. I swear, I used to be a reasonably interesting person.
We just celebrated your first Rosh Hashanah. You slept through most of it, and it didn't go the way I wanted. I was supremely bummed, scared of letting the few traditions I hold dear slip under the wheels of busy-ness, exhaustion, convenience, disinterest. Get rolled over and left for dead. I made no apologies this year; I made no resolutions. But as with most things, time may sort that out. My hope for this year, my thirtieth, is that I'll reclaim a little of my adultness. Adultness that may never have been fully realized to begin. Ballet will start again, I will get a facial, I will have time and hands enough to keep a tidy house. Maybe. I will eat breakfast again, and work. Deadlines will loom and I'll meet them. Your papa and I will learn to put you down, will learn that to let you nap alone doesn't mean we love you any less, even if it really, really pisses you off in the beginning.
xoxo,
mama
You are the burden of my generation
I sure do love you, but let's get that straight.
(Paul Simon lovingly quoted with abandon and no permission)
Also, on the papa front: I am beginning to forget what it's like to have a fluid talk with him. One that isn't interrupted with baby-juggling and redirection and trailing off, having forgotten what the next conversational turn was to be. Please, kid, don't misunderstand. Usually one of us is sidetracked by your cuteness. And even when we're not, it's okay, because you're a baby and you're fun to be around most of the time and when you're not, well... nobody's always pleasant company. Including me. In fact, I'm probably pleasant company less often than most. But when my life is so consumed by the baby-related, I'd really kill for a start-to-finish conversation about that New York Times article I read while you were sleeping, or fashion week or what I should do with my 401K money -- take it out or leave it in? Anything other than what kind of diapers I now prefer, how to wash them and what they look like after you've eaten black beans. I swear, I used to be a reasonably interesting person.
We just celebrated your first Rosh Hashanah. You slept through most of it, and it didn't go the way I wanted. I was supremely bummed, scared of letting the few traditions I hold dear slip under the wheels of busy-ness, exhaustion, convenience, disinterest. Get rolled over and left for dead. I made no apologies this year; I made no resolutions. But as with most things, time may sort that out. My hope for this year, my thirtieth, is that I'll reclaim a little of my adultness. Adultness that may never have been fully realized to begin. Ballet will start again, I will get a facial, I will have time and hands enough to keep a tidy house. Maybe. I will eat breakfast again, and work. Deadlines will loom and I'll meet them. Your papa and I will learn to put you down, will learn that to let you nap alone doesn't mean we love you any less, even if it really, really pisses you off in the beginning.
xoxo,
mama
You are the burden of my generation
I sure do love you, but let's get that straight.
(Paul Simon lovingly quoted with abandon and no permission)
Reader Comments (2)
I have a post a lot like this I was just about to finish. I am sick of talking diapers and sleep(lessness) 24/7... yet somehow it is all that comes out when I talk. I think a ladies night with some stiff drinks and dark chocolate might be in order.
i am so incredibly down for this. i am also down for making a more concerted effort at having real conversations in front of the babies because i really don't want them to grow up thinking we are boring or interested only in them.