Dear Reese,
We have a rough start to the day. I have a poor night of sleep and you wake up early and neither of us our quite content as we struggle through the first few hours. Your teething is bugging you I suspect, everything looks like it feels hard for you.
Getting out of the house helps. We meet a friend and colleague who’s visiting the area for a coffee at Cupola House. Or in your case, a croissant and shared sips of my seltzer water. You patiently sit with us while we visit, and afterwards we go to the library. A girl a little older than you is having trouble sharing anything you’re interested in, and you take it in stride. I fight the urge not to get overprotective and make sure you have as much time on that rocking horse as you want.
By mid-morning, I’m struggle-busing. The dirty diaper change at the library seemed to zap what little energy I was running on (you hated it and let me know, I discovered I only had one wipe with me that wasn’t completely dried out, and it was a very dirty diaper).
We go to the cottage. MorMor and Cappi make everything better. And I sip a Diet Coke and sit on the armchair for a few minutes, and the world feels calmer again. I also take time during your nap to go home and clean for a couple of hours — our morning had left a bit of a whirlwind in our wake.
Despite my tiredness, it really is a lovely day overall. You go on your balance bike a few times — it’s wild how fast you got the hang of it. We take a walk after your nap and go up and down Mariner Road and Lori Lane. The fresh air is revitalizing. We walk through our house in progress, I can’t help it every chance I can, and you practice sweeping our someday halls.
Over dinner, I have a moment of deep gratitude. You’re toddling around the kitchen and sunroom. I’m eating leftover pizza. MorMor and Cappi are here. I wished for moments like this, with you here, for years. I try not to take them for granted.
Love,
Mama