Some days when J returns from work and asks what we have been up to, I don’t know what to answer. The days do have content, I know, but often I forget what it was. One day it is a lot of sleep, the next it is no sleep. One day it is buying two kilos of apricots, the next it is not getting out the door. Come afternoon the apartment is seldom more clean or more tidy than it was in the morning, and laundry is done when G has no clean onesies left.
I am getting better at making G sleep during the day. It gives me time to do the dishes, read the paper, take longer showers. Or enjoy my time-outs at the window with tea and a biscuit. Though I have great plans for once I have more time, I spent my “more time” doing little things.
When she sleeps, I find myself missing her smile and wondering when she will wake up. When she is awake, I find myself exhausted and wondering when she will be sleeping allowing me to doze off.
G is three months on Thursday. I can’t believe how quickly time is flying by. When she arrived, it was summer. That just flew by and now autumn is slowly eating the very last of the mild weather, night is slowly eating day, and before we know of it, days will be cold and short. Perfect for hot chocolate and rice pudding. The difference (or to be more fair: one of them) between now and three months ago is that I believe I will get around to making both. Three months ago I thought cooking was forever out of my life. G cried at night and dinner consisted of whatever of my mother’s cooking was in the freezer. These days, when she sleeps, I find myself once again browsing through cookbooks and planning meals – and wondering how I could ever be as stupid as to believe my cooking days were over.
We went away for the weekend, got together with friends. We barely drank anything and a lot of the time was spent talking about babies. Two years ago, the first baby arrived within this circle of friends. This year we welcomed number four, five and six – seven is on its way. We have changed. We say things like “I miss a good gin-and-tonic or a glass of white wine now and then”. “Now and then” has substituted “one hell of a party”.
We were meant to sleep over and eat brunch, but in the end we got in the car around midnight on Saturday night and drove the three hours back home. “G will sleep in the car and we will get the entire Sunday at home,” we told each other as we headed home. It is not that an entire Sunday at home hasn’t delighted us before, but somehow it’s just different.
Somehow it’s just different. Slower, but also fuller.