Ten years later, I’m feeling that way again. I recognize that same wide-eyed focus, that obsession with what-does-this-new-being-under-my-roof need? All other responsibility fades. Emails go unread, news occurs whether I read about it or not, meals get skipped. This time, I’m on my own this time with a 125-pound new arrival.
Similarities exist between a little baby in the house and big baby in the house:
– The ‘baby’ and I check on each others’ whereabouts 24/7 He keeps an eye on me for security, I for him for safety.
– A fully stocked bag travels with us. The size of a diaper bag, I keep it filled with a fold-up mat (for him to lie on during long down-stays, especially at yoga class), plastic bag (another similarity: poop happens), wipes (he’s a drooler), an expandable bowl, treats (lucky dog) and a chew toy (essential, I’ve discovered, during long down-stays).
– Feeding time is on a strict schedule (a growing boy needs his meals!). Once we’re in a routine, I’ll need to remember to feed myself, too.
– I’m not sure I’m ready for this.
– He’s so cute when he’s sleeping. (His bed is my son’s old toddler bed. Lucky dog.)
There are differences as well:
This playful, shy, gentle giant is ready for me. We may have some details to work out about training and house rules (no resting his chin on the stove, for example), but he’s all set. He looks for me, he looks to me, he looks right at me, ready and set to go to work. Lucky me.