I miss things. Not in a nostalgic way. But in a general “I don’t notice what’s going on in the room” miss things kinda’ way. And I hate that.
I’ll be the first to admit that I am an idiot. An idiot who figures hosting 10 people for dinner on a Monday evening with a three-month-old baby in a house that’s half full of boxes from travelling back and forth and back and forth would be no big deal. So the idiot bit – as you will no doubt agree – is clearly valid.
But I don’t mind being that kind of idiot because it makes me happy to have people in my home being happy. The only thing is at the end of the night, I didn’t seem to know what had gone on.
I didn’t really get to chat. I didn’t really absorb the scene or the togetherness. I just panicked and in the panic, I missed things. The next thing I knew it was 10 p.m. and I’m looking at my husband saying “Was it nice? I don’t remember.”
So here’s to not missing things. Shit, at this rate, the list of things I have to remember to do is getting so long, I need to post it on the fridge door. But then I’d probably forget where I put the list until I miraculously remembered to eat lunch one day next week. I rest my case.
On the upside, at least I have good intentions for personal growth. I’m just lacking the time to accomplish it ; )
In my “old life” two months wasn’t such a huge amount of time. It was the better part of a quarter, by which I mean the business quarter. It was likely long enough for a movie I missed in theatres to appear at Blockbuster. It marked about two trips home to see friends and family, and probably a small handful of dinners or parties.
Then came Katie. At two months old today, and probably about a dozen pounds, she has taken the last two months and transformed my life completely. I am now capable of doing just about anything with one hand (and I do mean anything!) as well as eating any meal (steak included) in less than three minutes flat. But more than that, I am a mom. A real mom. And that’s something that no other two month period will ever compare to ever again.
My baby is strong. Much stronger than me, and much stronger than anyone else I know. She’s already done and overcome things I never imagined for her. My baby is a smiler. She is happiest in the morning, and her smile reveals all. My baby can belch like a truck driver. Even now, she’s old enough to know I find this hilarious, and that the dog does, too.
More than anything else, though, my baby is mine. Every day of the last 60, I’ve looked at her and marvelled that she came from me. She came from us. She came from a wish and a dream and she’s here and she’s mine to keep. It’s incredible, really, that the universe brought her to me. And I plan to spend the rest of my life giving thanks for her. Because gifts like this only come along once in a lifetime.
