Vigilance plus inactivity

The activities I like are the ones Zuzu can do entirely on her own, or that I can do alongside her. The ones I don’t like are the ones that require hovering. The combination of vigilance and inactivity is my least favorite combination. Potty training is an example. You have to spend a lot of time standing in the bathroom while your child sits on the toilet, waiting to see if anything will happen. Tooth brushing is another one. You want to let them do it on their own, and you want to make sure they’re doing it right, which for a very long time they aren’t, so you have to be present to bark things like, “Scrub! Back and forth! Up and down! Don’t suck, scrub! No, don’t look at the soap, concentrate on brushing your teeth. NO RUNNING WITH A TOOTHBRUSH IN YOUR MOUTH!” The supreme example of vigilance plus inactivity is the playground. The playground reminds me of stakeout scenes in cop shows. For long periods of time nothing happens, but you can’t read a book or distract yourself in any way, just in case something happens.
    The activities I like best include baking, taking walks, and especially art.

Notes from the plane: traveling alone.

Traveling alone. I canNOT convince myself that it's okay to have JUST a carry-on suitcase and a purse. Where is everything else? I won't make it without a diaper bag, will I? Isn't the diaper bag crucial to my existence? It's full not only of diapers and wipes but of the stuff of life for my kids--SNACKS and TOYS and the nursing cover--and the diaper bag is not here, not on my shoulder or at my feet. There is no carseat, stroller or pack 'n' play. A night away from home can't be this simple.

Last weekend I took the kids to visit friends (omigosh we had such a great time) and packing took ALL DAY and the entire trunk of my car. When I go by myself, I thought, it's gonna be so easy!

And it was. But the quickness of packing was disconcerting. "I cannot be done," I said perplexedly, looking at the little suitcase parked by the door. "I'm sure I won't survive all weekend with just this." I went over it again in my head: all you need is underwear, a change of clothes, a toothbrush, makeup. That is what it's like to live without kids. Remember? You used to do this.

I left without my phone. Maybe my brain grouped "phone" in with "kids," "diaper bag," "pack 'n' play." Very Important Things I'm Not Bringing With Me. I was only a block away when I missed it so I drove back ...

On the road, I looked over my shoulder before a lane change and saw the empty backseat and my stomach dropped. Not because I actually thought, "where are the kids," but just because it looked so wrong. And I'm used to the sight of pink plump arms and legs, and I'm soothed by that sight, and unnerved when it isn't where it should be.

At the airport, I sat at the gate and stared out the window and thought, this is the most I've daydreamed in years.

It felt strange to be seen by people and not recognized immediately as a mother. For some reason I want them to know. I guess the same reason one wears a college T-shirt--pride. When I pulled out my phone and saw my kids' smiling faces on the screen, I wanted other people to catch a glimpse too. "Oh look, she has kids. She's a mother," they'd note. It wouldn't make any difference to them, but I'd still get that boost--see those cuties? SO CUTE, right? Yep, they're mine.

But my motherhood is invisible right now. So what am I right now? I find myself searching my brain ... how did I think of myself before?

Whenever I take the kids out, to the grocery store or doctors office or anywhere, I watch people's faces and I see them break into a smile--not at me, but at the little curly-headed girl holding my hand or the fat happy baby kicking in the Baby Bjorn. I expect this when I go out. And it always happens, always. Zuzu and Bear make the world a happier place.

Do I have any little pearls of happiness to offer these strangers in the absence of my kids? Am I supposed to?

Gosh, being on a plane is a thousand times easier.

Crawling

My Bear boy has been crawling since August 28, the day he turned 8 months. He is still not fast. He plods along, plunking his palms on the ground loudly.

Bear does not like to be alone. I thought crawling would help with this. When people aren't near, instead of wailing as though his heart will break, he can just crawl to go get them. Well, he does crawl to go get people, but he still wails as though his heart will break, while crawling, all the way down the hallway.

He pulls himself up to stand all the time, and he isn't afraid to let himself down again to sit. Zuzu was. She would get trapped in a standing position and we had to rescue her. Bear sometimes doesn't even mind if he bonks his nose or something on the way down.

He wants everything. And he does seem to enjoy things when he gets them.

Zuzu has entered a new and vibrant world of imaginative play. Suddenly, her toys are all alive. And she could play with them ALL DAY. And she can't understand why anyone would do anything besides play with toys.

Me time

Twice, Zuzu and Bear napped at the same time for an hour and a half. Since then, I plan for this to happen every day.

What you imagine "me time" will be like every day:

But what usually happens is that they pass the napping baton back and forth to each other without even a minute of overlap. That is, when Zuzu naps at all, which is about 40% of the time.

Actual "me time" = kids being too absorbed to notice you stopped playing for 5 minutes to just zone out

 

P.S. After watching me draw for a while, Zuzu picked up a pen and drew PEOPLE for the first time! She'll be a better artist than I am in no time!