I start back to work in two weeks. The plan is to work from home for a while before going to the office full time. The change of pace seems nice in theory but I have no idea how we will do it, practically, from day to day. How any parents do it. How parents with more than one child do it. Things now are so frantic and hurried, showers taken quickly and chores done at breakneck speeds. If I think about subtracting 40 usable domestic hours from my week, my mind reels.
Every day I feel the ache to sit and write but it’s something I just can’t seem to carve out much time for. The mornings are my best chance, but I often find myself dozing on the couch instead, if the baby nods off too. That way I can get sixish instead of fiveish hours of sleep for the day. It’s like a little sanity booster shot. 
We’re all sick right now. A nagging cold that has us leaving rolls of toilet paper placed strategically around the house for nasal downpours. Holden is congested too and snorts his way through the day, tolerating the saline sprays and periodic invasion of the bulb syringe. He’s cranky now and again when he feels bad but usually in good spirits because he’s awesome like that.
Things are good these days, mostly, although I wish both our cars were working so we didn’t have to do the car coordination dance all the time. I’m excited for Holden to get a little bigger and stronger and easier to cart around so that we can continue our long and arduous reintroduction to society. He’s my pal; I can’t wait to have adventures with him. There are friends I’ve not seen in months because I’ve been holed up in the baby bunker. Of course, some friends tend to drop completely off the radar once you have a kid. I’ve been on both sides of that fence so I can’t much complain, I suppose. Never did I consider how completely consumed by your child you become once he’s here. Bah! I will always retain my unique sense of self! And my work! And my hobbies! I thought snottily when I’d encounter women who seemed to be all about their (especially young) children. What I didn’t realize is that to a great degree, you have no choice, at least in the beginning. Your unique sense of self IS your child, and all the finicky, mundane tasks that make his existence start out smoother are what comprise your existence. So much is wrapped up in getting that little squirt going in the right direction that everything else fades into the background. Unless you’re a crackhead. Those people don’t give a fuck.
I get it now, parents of the world. I feel bad for not getting it before, but no one gets it until she crosses that bridge for herself. I also get mom jeans and low-maintenance haircuts and constantly stained shirts and going to Target in pajamas and no make-up and arm fat and a too-wide middle thanks to a stretched-out tummy. These things are unfortunate but I get why they are things. They are collateral damage most women are not fortunate (or rich) enough to avoid, so we endure them. They are blinked out entirely when my baby boy catches a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eye and smiles wide, beside himself with happiness. That is what I live for now.
here’s why, in a nutshell, i’m still your friend and always will be, and why i feel like although being a parent has changed you to a degree (as it should), it hasn’t really changed who you are, and nothing probably ever could: in the midst of a very sweet, introspective post about your baby and how much you love him and your life and the way it’s changing and continues to change and could change in the future, you manage to find room for the words “crackhead” and “fuck.”
the next time you find yourself wondering “why do i rule so hard?” just think of that and go “oh yeah right that’s why.”
This, my sweet sister, is why I love you do much. Did you ever think in your lifetime that something so small but yet so fierce could consume what once was ‘your life’? It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity to be a mother and it warms my heart to see you say ‘I get it’