The hour before he goes to bed is quite labyrinthine. He, being my 8 month child, has the volatility of a middle aged bipolar adult, fluctuating between angel, devil, cooing, wailing, adorable and evil and you never know what road the evening will take you down.
The hour begins with Pablo, aka a 10 kg weight, glued to my right hip, usually not happy about being put down. I'm sure he is thinking something along the lines of I have 2-3 hours with you, Mom. Just let me be close to you. And when I consider that and write it down, I feel pretty guilty about calling it freedom.
It's just that for all of the day I am mainly someone else's. My job, my trainer, my son, my husband's. It's the minutes in the car listening to podcasts and giggling to myself and questioning something whimsical or the time after he sleeps when I send my husband to cook and get to indulge in some words, that I feel like I am me, doing something for myself, being what I envision myself to be irrespective of all those other things that now define me to the outside world.
Pablo and I mosey into the kitchen. I usually ask him "What's for dinner?" His gorgeous ash colored eyes pop out and his tummy grumbles and I try to cess out the situation through deductive reasoning on what the nanny fed him for lunch. You might be thinking, shouldn't you know that? But I am trying to relinquish control where I can and Pablo's lunch seems like a reasonable place to do that these days.
Tonight's special is a 1 egg omelette with some aged Parmesan. I wonder if my diet was as fancy back in the 80s. I am going to guess no but you never know. He gobbles it down like a hungry sailor and then happily indulges in some pineapple and bits of peaches that I have regurgitated after gnawing the skin off.
I scoop him out of his chair and am happy to say that tonight's meal was quite a tidy one. There is not food in my hair, nor really on him, and the surrounding premise is still fairly spotless. Mom is up 1 point.
We head for the hills or up three flights of stairs towards the bath. Every time I turn on the water, his eyes sparkle and I am not sure why as I am still determining whether or not he loves the bath or simply stands it. We hop in together and he's moaning a word that sounds like "Bu" I say the word book about 15 times to try and get him to elaborate but I am not scoring any points here. He does keep talking so I am calling this one even.
Outside of the tub, we do the evening struggle of pajama time. This is a new and not so wondrous point in his life also known as "Let's try to not get dressed." Mom loses only 1 point tonight because it's less painful than usual.
Finally, we retreat to the bed where Pablo latches on sweetly and is out in about 20 minutes. I lower him to his ground crib and he rolls over settling into his sleeping position. Mom is up 2 points for this success.
Today Mom is victorious but tomorrow's another day.
#TWTblog #SOL18 #Sliceoflife
The hour begins with Pablo, aka a 10 kg weight, glued to my right hip, usually not happy about being put down. I'm sure he is thinking something along the lines of I have 2-3 hours with you, Mom. Just let me be close to you. And when I consider that and write it down, I feel pretty guilty about calling it freedom.
It's just that for all of the day I am mainly someone else's. My job, my trainer, my son, my husband's. It's the minutes in the car listening to podcasts and giggling to myself and questioning something whimsical or the time after he sleeps when I send my husband to cook and get to indulge in some words, that I feel like I am me, doing something for myself, being what I envision myself to be irrespective of all those other things that now define me to the outside world.
Pablo and I mosey into the kitchen. I usually ask him "What's for dinner?" His gorgeous ash colored eyes pop out and his tummy grumbles and I try to cess out the situation through deductive reasoning on what the nanny fed him for lunch. You might be thinking, shouldn't you know that? But I am trying to relinquish control where I can and Pablo's lunch seems like a reasonable place to do that these days.
Tonight's special is a 1 egg omelette with some aged Parmesan. I wonder if my diet was as fancy back in the 80s. I am going to guess no but you never know. He gobbles it down like a hungry sailor and then happily indulges in some pineapple and bits of peaches that I have regurgitated after gnawing the skin off.
I scoop him out of his chair and am happy to say that tonight's meal was quite a tidy one. There is not food in my hair, nor really on him, and the surrounding premise is still fairly spotless. Mom is up 1 point.
We head for the hills or up three flights of stairs towards the bath. Every time I turn on the water, his eyes sparkle and I am not sure why as I am still determining whether or not he loves the bath or simply stands it. We hop in together and he's moaning a word that sounds like "Bu" I say the word book about 15 times to try and get him to elaborate but I am not scoring any points here. He does keep talking so I am calling this one even.
Outside of the tub, we do the evening struggle of pajama time. This is a new and not so wondrous point in his life also known as "Let's try to not get dressed." Mom loses only 1 point tonight because it's less painful than usual.
Finally, we retreat to the bed where Pablo latches on sweetly and is out in about 20 minutes. I lower him to his ground crib and he rolls over settling into his sleeping position. Mom is up 2 points for this success.
Today Mom is victorious but tomorrow's another day.
#TWTblog #SOL18 #Sliceoflife
I love your complete honesty in this post. "The evening struggle of pajama time" and your point system really capture what it's like to the a mom of an 8 month year old. You seem exhausted, but hopeful. Great slice!
ReplyDeleteI imagine every day is victorious when you have someone as adorable sounding as Pablo. Celebrate those special moments, momma! I love this slice.
ReplyDeleteI wouldn't feel quite so guilty craving (and savoring) those few moments to yourself! Sometimes that's what holds us together!! :) Great slice!!
ReplyDelete"It's just that for all of the day I am mainly someone else's." Sums up a working mom, especially of an infant. The fact that you are finding any minutes to write (as well as run) is pretty great!
ReplyDelete