The Day She Didn’t Choose Me

Today my daughter chose the babysitter. Normally I come home for lunch and Pearl’s eyes light up, her arms reach out to me and the love she shows is undeniable in that display of pure need. Today, none of that happened. Instead she held tight to Emma, snuggling into her neck and refusing to let go. I would never hold this against Emma, she is an incredible blessing to our entire family. But I nursed the pangs of heartache and guilt throughout the day, blaming an eight month old child for my destruction. She did not intend to shatter my heart. Pearl is just a baby, I repeated this to myself several hundred times.

DSC_7834 bw copy

Everyday I worry. Everyday I question my decisions and choices. Am I really doing the absolute best for my family? Some days yes. Some days I am super-mom, I am invincible, untouchable, unstoppable. If the apocalypse crashed down upon us at dawn, we’d be just fine, we’d kick apocalypse ass. Other days no, just no. And that two letter word contains more than enough defeat, additional explanation unnecessary to any parent.

DSC_8367 bw copy

At 7:35PM I forgave my daughter her unknowing indiscretion. I forgave her as we swayed together, nearly inaudible coos escaping her tiny perfect body as she drifted off. I forgave her as my feet sank into the carpet, my toes imprinting our love on the world below. We swayed much longer than necessary. Feeling her warm, even breath on my shoulder, her fingers gently squeezing my arm and releasing, squeezing and releasing, her entire body eventually falling into a peaceful, heavy, relaxation. She is safe, and warm, and loved. She is innocent and I do my best and so we are granted equal amnesty.

Tonight we conquered emotional cataclysm, tomorrow is another day.

A youth well spent

I hear this question a lot these days, “Do you ever wonder what you used to do with all your free time?” The first few times I fell right into the deep hole of despair this question, perhaps unknowingly, implies: the agony of a wasted life.

Yes, I miss sleeping in. I miss the days when my body wouldn’t automatically come to life five minutes before Pearl wakes up. I miss staying up late for no apparent reason, safe in the knowledge that I would feel wonderful the next day regardless. I miss the freedom to just read all day, the freedom to spend days agonizing over a single blog post. But it’s not these little moments seemingly filled with nothing that I mourn.

To answer the question, no I do not wonder how I filled my time. I remember fondly, I spent it doing things like this:

Machu Picchu

 

Baja

 

Rhino

Pardon my humble brag, but I’m happy to say my youth was not wasted.  Life did not begin or end with Pearl. She found us mid-way through the story; well developed characters with an expansive history rich in self-discovery. And even though our time is now spent doing this like this:

Pearl

 

Pearl

Happily, it was our past that got us to this present, and what a gift it is.

Dear Husband

Dear Husband,

Growing a human being is no simple task, I thank you for your patience and understanding while I flit about the house ranting about your muddy boots and coffee stains on our white cupboard doors. While I often feel justified in these moments of pure, seething, indignation I know I am sometimes in the wrong. Key word: sometimes. I want to apologize for two moments where I confess, I was wrong.

About six months in, on a Saturday morning, all I wanted was a breakfast burrito and we were out of potatoes. A breakfast burrito without potatoes is just a weird burrito that happens to have an egg in it, don’t kid yourselves people. You refused to go the store at 9AM because you hadn’t showered yet. I remember watching our friend Elliott literally jump from the couch to get his pregnant wife a glass of water when she vaguely mentioned she was thirsty. You need a shower? A shower to go to the one grocery store in our population 2000 town that no one will be at at 9AM? Cue the insane, hormonal water works. I had successfully guilted you into the shower but I was not nearly finished being crazy. Dripping wet you found me in the kitchen frying the potatoes I had managed to purchase and return with before you even reached for the conditioner. And you said nothing, you let me relish my “take that!” moment with a quiet, confused apology in your eyes.

Much like the time you stomped through our house in your boots in mid-winter and I asked you to please, please, stop doing that. I spent the morning plowing through laundry, painting the nursery, and watching our roomba struggle to pick up the dirt clods and stickers littering our floors. Hours later you returned, boots still firmly planted on your feet, and terrorized our house yet again like Charlie Brown’s friend Pig-pen come to life. Arm-waving was now in play, high-pitched pregnancy induced hysteria on full throttle, “I spent the WHOLE DAY using the robot vacuum to clean up after YOUR mess. And now I have to turn it on again and start ALL over.” Yes. The robot vacuum, the vacuum that automatically cleans our house with the push of a button. How dare you? Again, you said nothing, removed your boots, and let me rave like a too early released lunatic.

Honestly, I think you got off pretty easy over the past nine months. However, I recognize and apologize for these two incidents where a perceived justification turned out to be totally uncalled for nonsense upon later reflection. If we learn anything from these moments it’s that sometimes it’s best to say nothing and other times you should just go buy the damn potatoes. And I think we should both be thankful I didn’t have a pregnancy like this lady.

XO

Your Loving Wife