i’m at a loss. every day, i really want to write, and every day, i find it damn near impossible to carve out the time to do it. ideas for posts float in and out of my head like so many good intentions, and now i’m sitting here during a quiet moment at the workyplace, and i’m drawing a blank.
…i’m having blog performance anxiety. or something. i don’t know.
so this baby of ours, she sure demands a lot of time and energy. go figure. she is busy busy go go go from sunup to sundown (referred to as “play” and “pause” respectively). she is forcing us to hone our dry-mopping skillz on ye olde stained concrete floors, as she now deftly pincer-grasps the tiniest grit the dogs can drag in. just the other night, i found a burr drooling out the corner of her mouth as she fell asleep at my breast.
we’ve also recently learned that there is a reason babies experience stranger anxiety: strangers are crazy.
this past weekend, we took an overnight trip to dallas to visit my sister e, who was having her baby shower. [side note: she is huge. her belly is delicious.] held in a small room at an italian restaurant, we were amongst 20ish grown women all sat around a huge table that gave us all little wiggle room. one of the guests was a 50-something woman named c, who looked a little nervous to be sitting next to lesbians but whose nervousness was totally overridden by the edible baby belonging to said lesbians. within moments, she begged permission to hold jude, and of course we gave it. for communal appetizers had arrived, and we didn’t want to miss our chance at getting some goat cheese.
after filling my plate, i glanced over at c, who was feeding my eight month daughter crabcake with a fork! this no-no was apparently preceded by spicy broccoli cheese dip, which we missed. h drew the line at very sugary cake. c actually asked if she could feed her the cake before shoving it in her mouth, and when h said no, c became all pouty and faux apologetic to jude in a “sorry baby that your mamas are mean and won’t let you have cake even though you’re 8 months old” kind of way.
…jude puked and smelled like sour goat cheese, by the way. it was her first projectile experience. and it was just as glorious as it seems. did i mention the small restaurant room was also stuffy?
seriously, who feeds crabcake to a baby?
anyway, it has to be said that, despite the constant dangerbaby moments and being the adrenaline-filled spotter, i am enjoying busy crawling age so much. jude is this fuzzy-headed wonder, who is not quite a baby or toddler. she is squat and chubby one day, lean and gangly the next. she smells like shampoo and sweat and cheerios and sunshine. her pants are always falling down, revealing a fabulous baby coin slot. she calls my name mamamamama as she climbs into my lap and tries to lift my shirt in hot pursuit of the boob. she laughs when i pretend to sneeze, laughs so hard she topples backwards.
i spend every day trying to remain present, hoping to hold every moment like the delectable treasure it is. because, this having a baby part of my life is almost over. jude is fast becoming a kid. i don’t want to miss this.