I had a moment last week when I looked around at Sam and I racing to get Oliver a second glass of milk while simultaneously making lunch for the next day, running his bath and washing one of Frankie's bottles and thought: what have we done? We'd hardly talked to one another since we got home and we both had an agenda the second Oliver was asleep: Sam to catch up on unfinished work, me to do some yoga and shower before bed. Two passing ships. To say that life looked different years ago when we met is an understatement: obviously we didn't have kids then, we both were self employed and hustling to make a dream work. Today there's less of that constant hustle as we both make moves to settle in and work for other companies with actual health care and steady pay checks. Imagine!
This is the third week I've been back at work, and it's finally starting to feel normal enough. Of course I miss my days with Frances terribly, and the shuffle of dropping Oliver off at preschool, joining the morning commute to get to the office, and then turning around and doing it all over again on the way home took some adjustment. Sometimes I spend almost three hours a day in the car, and am not always a happy camper walking in the door, met with the question of dinner, the task of packing lunch for the next day, filling the bath and so on. One morning at breakfast last week, Oliver and I were talking about our upcoming day: he asks me what I'll do at work and then we talk about the weather and what he's excited about. Typically his list involves wearing his astronaut helmet on the drive to school and helping me water the flowers when he gets home. As he was rattling on, I got up to make more tea and noticed it'd started to rain. I was dreading the drive into work, and my mind started spinning thinking about all the things I could do if I didn't have such a long commute (exercise! bake! meditate! play with Frances!) Then I heard Ollie's little voice from the table, "Mom I think the sun will come through the clouds today for me and for you, too."
I had two things I wanted to accomplish during maternity leave: sew Frances new curtains and organize our family photos. When I set these goals for myself both seemed so doable and, of course, without kids I could tackle them in a long weekend. But before getting too bummed about the fact that the curtains just aren't happening, I hear my friend Kelsey's voice in the back of my head: don't should all over yourself. There's so many things we should do in our own minds but really there's other priorities, too: planting flowers with Oliver in the backyard, walking for vegan ice cream cones after dinner, and getting to bed early. Because how good does it feel to SLEEP?! I'm willing to bet it feels way better than new curtains.
I officially have one more month of maternity leave left. A big part of me is excited to go back to the office and be around other adults -- to wear real clothes and eat lunch in relative peace. The other part of me is, of course, worried I'll be sad to leave Frances and the reliable and awfully sweet domestic routine we've established together: Walking the neighborhood looking at spring flowers and early morning chai and mat time. This past month Frances has become more wakeful and alert; she spends more time playing in her little chair and even laughed for the first time! But this increased wakefulness has also meant much less snoozing time and more fussing, which can often make for a pretty long day. I remember while I was home with Oliver a few years ago feeling a heightened sense of anxiety with each tough moment, as if the current state of things would be a permanent part of our reality. Baby doesn't stop crying from 5 - 6pm? Clearly you'll never have a quiet dinner again. Baby's now waking up three times each night. You''ll likely never sleep again. Of course now we have the perspective to know that Oliver is pretty decent evening company and sleeps through the night just fine -- most kids do, eventually. If one thing's a guarantee about parenthood, it's that nothing remains the same.
The baby's sleeping, the baby's sleeping: quick, write about lentils! The truth is what I really want to write about is the soft spring rain (not even sure we can call it that as it feels more like a mist) and the pillowy cherry blossoms gracing what feels like every street in Seattle. We have a large shrub in our front yard and every year I forget that it actually blooms until one morning in early April when I look outside and BAM it's filled with the most gorgeous white blossoms. It's a good time for evening scooter rides (if you're Oliver), and making plans for a modest summer garden. It's a good time for salad for dinner, too, which is where these lentils come into play.
Almost two months into maternity leave and Frances and I are finding a groove. I feed her in the morning before anyone else is up and we head downstairs where she sits in her funny little seat on the kitchen floor while I make tea and figure out what to lay out for Oliver's breakfast. The rest of the day fluctuates between me wearing her in a carrier while she naps, taking walks around the neighborhood or playing during the brief window she's awake. After dinner when I think back on what we did during the day, it's hard to name specifics -- yet somehow time ticks on all the same. Knowing that Frances is our last baby has helped me accept this dramatic slow down in pace more readily than I ever could with Oliver. That and the perspective that the pace picks up quickly enough and these slower days will be gone in a blink.
February in Seattle: despite the fact that it's literally the shortest month, it always feels never ending to me. It's that bridge month between winter and a tiny glimpse of spring, when we all start counting down the days until daylight savings time. Or said another way, it's a major oatmeal, cocoa and hunker-down month and this year is proving to be no exception. Except now with two small people instead of just one, I'm all about taking as many shortcuts as possible, so hellllooooo Instant Pot oats!
Well here we are: what will presumably be the last post of 2018. Any second we'll start seeing all the "Top 9" posts on Instagram along with friend's musings as they look back on 2018 and look forward to what they hope to accomplish next year. As with all social media, I can't help but think that a tiny bit of this is performance or posturing for others, no? We have a few clear goals or intentions for the year ahead and then maybe we throw in a few that just sound good -- even to ourselves -- although we may know deep down we're not going to run a triathlon or take up watercolor painting. It could happen though, right?