I dance around the nursery in my pajamas and sing along to the Beastie Boys and Cowboy Mouth (“Sabotage” and “Get Out of My Way,” respectively) while I shake my tush in full view of anyone who happened to be driving past the apartment.
I splash around in the pool while the husband carries the daughter through the water. We lift her up and spin her through the air like an airplane.
At story time, although easily the youngest there, Lorelei is enchanted by the books and the songs. She crawls around trying to grab a stuffed animal (or a book, or another kid’s shoes, etc). She pulls a crayon from the basket and although she doesn’t entirely understand that she shouldn’t eat it, she waves it around like a baton and occasionally makes contact with the paper.
Some days are shit. Some days I have to deal with cat hair balls. Some days Lorelei has disgusting poops and, because she is Squirmy McSquirmyson, she drags her feet through the diaper trying to get away from me as I try to wrestle her and wipe her butt – one day she will be embarrassed that I wrote those words. I will be so close to throwing in the towel and saying Fine. Don’t wear a diaper. Get pee and poop everywhere. I’m tired of your histrionics.
But that awesome thing about babies is that, when they aren’t crying about APOCALYPTIC-LOSS-OF-THE-BINKY, they are full of joy. Usually it is about the silliest little things. Lorelei will laugh and clap her hands when I make funny faces at her. She will find the handle of a screwdriver (just the handle, no sharp screwdrive-y bits) and will crawl around the apartment with it as if it is the greatest thing that has ever been invented.
I wish I could approach each day with that kind of attitude. I am so frequently bogged down with anxiety over things that don’t matter that the little moments are lost. But I am trying to do better and I have some pretty awesome inspiration: