We’ve been home one month today
When I reflect on this, I oscillate between two reactions: It’s only been a month?! and It’s been a whole month?!
Everyone warned me about the time flying by, but nobody warned me about the time-as-eternity phenomenon that is also parenting. Nor did I receive warning about the Groundhog Day phenomenon. Nor about the smell of spit-up that stays in your clothes after the visual stain is gone. Not that I’m irritated about this or anything. Not that I’ll wear cashmere again in the forseeable future.
It’s been wonderful to watch Lina make progress. It’s exciting to watch her grow (although I’ll admit it also makes me panic because pretty soon she’ll be a little girl and not a baby anymore). We’re on a schedule that works for all of us. She’s sleeping well, eating well, and can throw things clear across the living room. Cool. One day soon she’ll be able to throw toys for Lily to retrieve, and then they’ll be a self-sufficient unit, dog and child. Mama will simply go about her business as the two small creatures play merrily for hours. When they are tired, they will simply curl up together in one of the many plush dog beds around here, and Lily’s snoring will lull Lina into sweet slumber. I had this same fantasy about the dog-and-cat combo, by the way. Three years later, and I’m still waiting for that one to happen.
Not that I mean to say that entertaining my child isn’t a good time. The stacking cups are definitely genius. But I am looking forward to teaching her about letters and numbers. Reading. Mathematics. Kinetic sculpture. The combustion engine. High-energy particle accelerators.
But right now she is almost ten months old and prefers to be her own kinetic sculpture, which is fine. She’s funny, strong, and stubborn. She would run this whole household if we let her, which we definitely do not. But she would, which cracks me up when I don’t find it exasperating. I desperately want her to be herself, while at the same time learning how to be a cooperative, compassionate part of society so she doesn’t grow up to be like Condoleeza Rice or something.
Home one month. That’s not very long at all. Just long enough to unpack, get over jetlag, establish a routine, turn 35, celebrate some holidays, and run through one bottle of bourbon. That’s not bad, people. Let’s hear it for 2005. Here at the ranch we think it was pretty great, especially the last part.