My mind mulls over writing about Sprout’s favorite foods and how we potty trained her even though it took six months, she peed on the floor of the library yesterday and probably only her grandmothers care. I spin the stories around in my mind like a rock tumbler, hoping even the crappiest of gravel stones will transform into a crystal that I don’t want to throw out in five months. I guess it’s one of those ‘you never really know until you try’ kind of scenarios.
So here’s the latest… I interviewed a doula the other day. She asked me to give her one word I would want to describe my delivery. I said “Easy”. If I’d been given a sentence I probably would have said: I basically want to be asleep until the baby cries. I don’t think I mean it though. Those all consuming feelings of being alive are the ones I know I’ll hold onto until the moment I’m not anymore. Of course, I also want to include ‘safe’ and ‘successful’ as adjectives to describe the experience, but those almost feel taboo. I can’t think about them not being part of the story.
I had a mental checklist of big things to address before there were two tiny girls living here:
+ Potty train the bug.
+ Transition her into non-Mommy & Me swimming and gymnastics.
+ Get her comfortable in her new loft bed.
+ Enroll her in preschool.
+ Remain calm and on a very low dosage of Zoloft.
+Wash the windows.
Everything except cleaning the windows has happened and now, of course, since I said it aloud, it all has the chance of falling into the cracks like it was never really real.
My dreams at night are about sleeping outside, being wrongfully accused and skateparks that I can ride from top to bottom. The world outside of pregnancy is in sight. It feels like I’m in a rocket and I can see Earth in the distance. Or maybe my baby bump is a planet and it will soon start to orbit out of view. I clean my glasses every ten minutes just to be sure that I’m seeing everything.
This, just like the moments before I open my eyes in the morning, is the time to feel it all.