I made it, I made it through 33. I’m sitting on the living room couch in my softest bathrobe after taking an evening shower. Sweet Andrew is reading next to me. I’ve showered maybe twice this week? Last time was on Tuesday, before taking Owen to his first music class. Today, I did a Peloton ride with my favorite instructor Robin (and finally changed my profile tag to #pelotonmoms) so it would have been especially gross not to shower. For the first time since getting out of bed this morning, my body doesn’t feel so beat up.
The living room has transformed into Owen’s playground. His swing is blocking the fireplace. Two play mats, a bouncer and a coffee table cover up the rug between the furniture, the furniture is draped with baby carriers, burp cloths, his car seat, cardboard boxes from baby stuff, and his stroller is taking up the entry way by the door. The bazillion toys scattered across his play mat remind me how many times I lifted Owen up and down, how I worked extra hard to entertain him today since it rained heavily outside. This is where I live now, this is my job, this is my kingdom.
When Andrew got home from work earlier, Owen had fallen asleep on me after eating and I was bound to the recliner for almost two hours. I don’t mind it as much I used to, when I desperately longed for more sleep. I love feeling him so soft and comfortable on me, seeing his perfect little angel face resting on my shoulder. He snores the tiniest, cutest baby snores. I am so endlessly in love with him. I wore Andrew’s old D.A.R.E shirt and Amazon leggings, had my hair up in a ponytail.
We had frozen pizza for dinner, but a gourmet kind from Costco. Neither of us had the energy to cook, and plus our dishwasher seems to have broken down. I was happy to see Andrew and he played with Owen while we speculated whether or not Owen was teething. He had been drooling and so fussy today, and seemed happiest gnawing on his molecule toy, in the love and safety of his father’s lap. While Andrew put him to sleep, I unloaded the dishwasher full of dirty dishes and washed them by hand. I thought about turning some music on, but after a day of Owen’s fussing, endless white noise and baby songs, silence is what I wanted.
I’ve romanticized this life a thousand different ways but now that I’m living it, it’s just a normal day, and I’m tired as hell. But also, I bet in a couple years I’ll look back at days like this and which I could be here once more.
