The first baby napped. A little bit of playtime in the morning then boom, nap. Up for lunch then he snoozed through most of the afternoon. He napped before bed. He was regular. Life was regular.
This time around. Nothing is regular.
She’s a sweet little girl, I think. When she wakes up, she’s
bright eyed and looking around, the trees really get her attention. The world
is a special place, and she’s loving the view.
But after five, ten, fifteen minutes max and her brow
wrinkles. Her color turns from a milky white to a deep crimson. The
lip juts out and...
Three…
Two…
One…
The beast is here.
The beast will claw out your eardrums with her seek-and-destroy screams. She
will slap you into submission. She will shriek, wail, pause to fill the lungs before
she roars again. You don’t want to be short a bottle or breast when this thing is
hungry.
She is just beginning to coo and jabber but blink and these little moments vanish. Usually, it comes with a smile, enough to melt your
heart until she destroys a diaper on your lap. And then the beast returns with
a vengeance.
When she sleeps, we tip around the house like cat burglars.
Any creak on the floor and we exchange wide eyed looks, scowls, everyone ready
to turn on one another in an instant. In the case our seven year old forgets
the little beast is sleeping and comes rushing in flushed and loud—you know,
being a seven year old—my wife and I lunge for him, a single finger to our lips.
Shhhh!”
She’s not quite two months old and seems to realize her absolute
power over us. She can change plans on a dime. She can get what she wants. All
she has to do is threaten to blow and she will be returned to Mom’s arms, ready
to nurse.
I know things will change. I’ll go back to work. We’ll all
go out into the world again. Maybe we’ll look back at this time together and
remember the good moments. The soft coos and the rare smiles. The impromptu
walks with my seven year old on my lunch breaks. This very easy morning commute
down the hallway. My open window, the birds’ morning songs and the slight
breeze in the fall leaves. The…
Oh, baby’s crying. Gotta run!
