I’m trying to not nap today.
You see, I woke up this morning and it seems that my baby is, suddenly, 18.5 months old.
Although I have been there for every day of it, I honestly do not know how this happened. I would be less shocked if he was 18 DAYS old, actually.
Because I’m pretty sure I am still postpartum? And everyone should just applaude me for making it out of the house? And shouldn’t someone still be bringing me meals??
Also, frankly, I deserve a nap! I have done so many things today! So, so many things, I won’t go into them all here, but lets just say that if you were sitting on my couch right now and I told you all the things I have done so far today you would gasp! And exclaim, “But friend! You did too much!”
And I would stifle a sob, motion to my surroundings and say, “I know! But apparently I didn’t DO ENOUGH! Because the house looks like I haven’t gotten off the couch all day! And the children are acting as if they haven’t been parented…ever. I would compare them to feral children, except I’m pretty sure that wild dogs have a discipline system of some kind?”
Then I would lay my head on your shoulder, and ask you hopefully if you brought cookies? And then you would say, “I thought you were on a diet?” and I would sob again and you would rub my back gently.
After my self-pity-rainshower died down, you would steer me to my bed and I would protest “No nap today! He’s 18 months old!” and you would say, “Shush! He’s practically a newborn!”
And you would tuck me into my bed, and pull the covers up to my chin, and as you walked out and closed the door I would whisper, “That’s why she’s my best friend.”