It's well past noon.
The little lady sleeps. I can do something now. My mind constantly rambles all the things I want to say, are there any listeners? None, perhaps...
I am the listener, the doer, the planner, the procrastinator. For these are the thoughts everyone knows but no one would want to hear for me.
Is it just me or being a 30 year old mother means being isolated. No more movie outings, no more spontaneous trips to the mall, no more weekend getaways. Heck, I cannot visit the loo without planning. She senses somehow that mommy just took her first morsel since morning or that she just sat down to write ( As I write, I can hear that she is up).
5 minutes later, I am sitting with her in my lap, as she wriggles, putting my elbow as a safety check so she does not fall and my fingers still typing away.
Yes, I planned my baby, I wanted to be a mother. Wanting a baby is an abstract idea, loving her is abstract but doing laundry, feeding and nursing and bathing and cleaning several times over a day is real, very real. Even more complex is going out for an hour and finding your sobbing baby upon return, because she missed you - my heart broke in a million pieces.
Still typing - with one hand now... and i realise how this is in deep contradiction of smelling the roses. But then, that's all of us.
For at the other end, is my 4 month old squealing with joy on seeing her favorite toy. I need to fetch.