A moment

The house is quiet.  Ever just turn off the tv?  Ahhhh . . . it’s a beautiful sound. The sound of silence.  I’m alone and the house is quiet.  A baby snuggles into his monkey sheets just upstairs for the next hour and a half.  I have an hour and a half to relax or to do chores. 

I choose to relax.

I pour myself a cup of strong coffee, as my husband has made it this morning, the blasting whir of his grinder alerting me to wake up and partake.  I remember there is a box of almond biscotti in the cupboard, part of a gift basket from a friend many months ago.  Or was it years ago?  I’m sure it’s still good.  I sift through the cupboard, open the box and commence the dunking. 

I need a moment this morning.  I need to let laundry and bottles stack up and fall over.  Who cares? I need a moment to realize that I’m still human.  That life is still good.  That although life is always changing, I’m okay. 

It was only last night that I reluctantly sent out an e-mail to the agency I previously worked for before my hiatus to motherhood.  I was notifying them that I was – gulp! – ready to return to work.  I read and re-read the e-mail, hoping it didn’t make me sound TOO available, my cursor hovering over SEND.  Then, I did it.  I sent it and the weepiness began. 

I woke up thinking about it.  I don’t want to go back to work.  I can’t imagine dropping N off at a babysitter and watching his little face say, “But, but . . .where are you going, mommy?  How could you abandon me to a stranger?” 

I wonder if there is any way I can get paid for reading books all day and writing . . . occasionally.  I wonder. . . fo now, I just need a moment.

Here I am . . .

. . . listening to a very loud tv report on the Olympics at 7:50am because my dad can’t hear and sipping on a cup of weak coffee.  ‘Can’t figure out how to make it just right.  I’m not the coffee maker in the family.  I’ve been up since 6am – well, actually since 11:30 the night before because my son has learned to turn over on his tummy but not back again.  He therefore grunts and moans all night until his sounds escalate to a high pitch suffocating wail. 

I’ve let myself relax.  Just let go and let the parents take over.  I’ve let them carry my son around and have let schedules be damned.  I’ve overlooked piles of crap that my cat has layed in my closet out of jealousy and just cleaned it up and moved on.  This too shall pass.

They’ve been here for a week and I couldn’t be more thankful.  It was only the second day they were here when I declared, “I’m leaving – I’m leaving and going to Starbucks.  I’m going to read a book and have a mocha.  I’m at my boiling point and I need a break.”  I pushed back the golf ball in my throat and my dad just knodded.  “You go ahead, sweetheart. We’ll watch N.” 

Now, they’re leaving and life will get back to normal.  Just me and N most of the time.  Battling it out for sleep, loving and living.

Shoplifting Mama

“Is this yours?”  My friend lifted a bottle of Dreft from my shopping cart.  Problem:  I hadn’t paid for it and we were now in the Target parking lot, loading our cars, my son screaming from the back seat.  I was frantic.  I hadn’t seen it around the mammoth thing I call a car seat.

I nodded.  “Uh. . . uh . . . “  I stammered in my ever increasingly common brainless mommy way.  “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Pay for it next time you come back.”  She said and threw it in my car. 

I agreed and we took off, hoping the whipping wind from the open windows in the back seat would lull my child to sleep so I could remember how to drive.