I have a corner in the basement with little light except an old lamp that looks like a stripper pole & can’t be left on too long or else things start to smell burnt. I’m trying to do too many things at once: dinner, disinfection sew Christmas stockings, physician reply to an e-mail while the Mister & Moira are out enjoying what could be the last bike ride of the year.
I hear the baby awake and moving, playing with her crib music. When I go to her, her arms are stretched straight out and her hair is sticking straight up like a chicken and my god no other baby in the world smells this good. And I marvel at how I can love two little people so much and I know that it is okay to like this one just a little bit more right now by the very nature that she is a baby. The baby. Someday Moira and I will look at each other conspiratorially while Fionnuala is the one who is liked a little bit less and Moira will think “I am no longer that person” and life will balance itself out briefly before tipping once more.
And the Mister turns to me at night and says “what do you need to organize this place better? Or is it just time and waiting until Fionnuala is older.” But it isn’t time it is drive and so we do – drive to Ikea and buy another piece of furniture in the hopes that it is the answer to the junk piles that are taking over the livingroom and once again this weekend the Mister will fill up the recycle bin and tell me not to look – and I won’t and a little more space will be made. More air to breathe. More room to play.
But then my sweet smelling baby will start throwing-up on Friday night and try to convince us with her wide smiles & voracious appetite that she is not sick but she will continue to throw up Saturday night and Sunday morning and I will not sleep for two nights. I think: all I want is for her to go back to sleep (puke-free). I think: all I want is for her to get better and stop being so clingy. I think: all I want is for the smell of vomit to leave the house. But I am also grateful that we no longer have to collect quarters to feed the washing machine. Grateful that I can do laundry at 2 in the morning.
And Moira has a rare nap and is blissfully happy on Sunday night building igloos out of fabric scraps and making snow angels on the carpet. She is so much fun and now I am listening to her sing herself to sleep and I don’t have to wait years for the balance to tip – it does so hourly.