Keeping Score

Lots of sunniness and brilliant blue sky action this week. The flood waters are abating. Runny noses are drying up. Homecoming is on the horizon.

I spent the first few days of the week just feeling incredibly blessed. You finally emerged from this cocoon of not-yourself-ness into this vivid, drooling, hugging butterfly. You were smiling like crazy and so BUSY. As you putter around the house you truly look like you have your own agenda in your head, something like:

"Open mailbox door. Put plastic peacock figurine inside. Close door. Turn around. Walk to books. Pick up book. Carry book to ottoman. Bang book on ottoman. Toss book aside. Pick up black measuring cup. Taste. Wave around. Bring measuring cup to mailbox. Open door. Close door. Open other door. Retrieve peacock. Drop measuring cup. Abandon both. Peruse cookbooks. Pull largest one from shelf. Consider recipes. Notice wicker basket. Explore contents of wicker basket. Discover plastic bag. Taste. Grind plastic bag between teeth. Hold plastic bag between teeth while noticing pile of folded laundry. Topple laundry. Choose lavender pants. Position lavender pants on head while still experiencing plastic bag between teeth. Notice water cup on table. Point to cup and whine at Mama. ETC, ETC, ETC"

Somewhere in the midst of all of this, you'll wander over to Daddy or I and hug whatever part of us is accessible. All while smiling or babbling. You say "ot" for "hot" and "ar" for "car." You still don't say "Mama" or "Dada." Mostly you rely on pointing or bringing to us an item that represents your next activity choice (i.e. your shoes if you want to go outside, a book if you want to read, Luxy's Chuck-It if you want to throw the ball with her). You stand by your chair if you're hungry. You point to the kitchen counter if you want a banana.

You eat like a horse. Noodles of any kind are still the running favorite. You have also developed a lovely new tendency which is to run your fingers through your hair repeatedly during mealtimes. The results, while amusing, require immediate attention (i.e. a thorough shampoo) so we have taken to making you wear a winter hat while you eat.

My thoughts are not in order this week. This post clearly lacks a theme or narrative thread. What I wanted to say, I guess, is just that while the week began blissfully, it has ended not so blissfully. Rejection slips in the mail, nap protests, early wake-ups, a childcare opportunity falling through, a messy house, and the never-endingness of it all seeming never-ending rather than simply like the rewards and trials of a life well lived.

You woke at 6am this morning. I nursed you and tried to put you back down. You were having none of it. I told your father to get up with you. He was having none of it. "That doesn't seem fair to me," he mumbled. And later: "why is it that you're always the one telling me what to do?" Finally he took you downstairs. But I couldn't sleep. I lay in the dark, adding up the number of hours that each of us spends with you every week. I turned on a light and scratched my calculations on the back of an envelope.

I know in a marriage you're not supposed to keep score. But sometimes I think the person who made up that rule was a man; he knew that if the scores ever did get added up it would be clear who was getting the short end of the stick.

I'm torn between knowing, deep in my heart, that things even out eventually, that my husband is doing his best, that this kind of intensity won't go on forever--and feeling like if I don't stand up for myself no one will, that it would be easy to get whittled down to nothing, and that the rejection slips will continue to pile up unless I fight, even with the person I love the most, for time with the blank page.