The baby finally went for a nocturnal eight-hour stretch
between feeds two nights ago. I am feeling like a new person while desperately
hoping it wasn’t a fluke. Unfortunately, it feels like waking up in a
post-apocalyptic world, like living in a trailer where obviously aliens have
attacked the planet and all you see are flashes of decrepitude: grimy bathrooms
and toilets. Small, conveniently choke-able toy parts scattered in every
possible random space. Kitchen counters so cluttered there is no space to cut
an apple. Food particles sealed into the vacuumed carpet. Any minute now a
haggard-looking Brad Pitt or Will Smith will appear. I have to give credit to D
that things are not worse, but there’s only so much housework the poor guy can
do on top of running two health districts, three kids, and a surly,
sleep-deprived wife for the past six weeks.
On the up-side, I made butternut squash soup today, which reminds
me of my Boston days when my apartment-mate, who believed in eating colorful
foods, first taught me the recipe. It made me think of medical school and
community and retreats in New Hampshire in the fall. Sometimes it is staggering
to me how much of ourselves we can lose as parents; how much what is still part
of who I am I simply don’t access or experience. I really am still someone who
likes to read, and paint, and play guitar at retreats, and shop, and bake fancy
things, and go to exercise classes. But instead I am mostly someone who spent
today wiping snot every five minutes and explaining for the fiftieth time why
we have to SHARE. And who will apparently be doing the same thing tomorrow.
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