I wish it was customary to post a sign in front of one’s home during the first year of your child’s life that reads: We have a baby! Kind of like those “baby on board” signs people put on their cars to forewarn others that they might drive really cautiously and slow, or very abruptly pull over to allow their child to pee or vomit on the side of the road, or become scary and enraged if you do something to endanger their passengers. Yes. Something like that. I’d really love to inform people to just avert their eyes when walking past my property…to let them know that I am busy trying to keep my child alive and unharmed instead of manicuring my lawn, cleaning out my garage, or removing this year’s Christmas tree from our shed. Baby on board, people. Keep walking.

Of course, I could use a sign like that inside my house as well…

Alexa: Emerson, I can’t move with you standing in between my legs like that….wow, this making me flash back to ten months ago….there’s really nothing like the feeling of a head between your legs.

*Perverted wink from Alex*

Alexa: Really?! Must you tarnish my birth experience with your perversion?!

Alex: As if it wasn’t already tarnished by the three hours of ripping pain you felt the last time her head was there.

Alexa: No. That’s not how I think of it. It was the most sacred experience….you don’t get it, because you haven’t given birth!

Alex: Yah, obviously. I love how you’re always shocked when I say I don’t “get” something because “I’m not a woman,” as if it’s news. I’m not a woman!

Alexa: Sigh…WHY NOT?!

Alex: Because, I was born with a penis 33 years ago.

But, we love Alex, too. Of course we love Alex! And there is nothing sweeter than family time. That half hour we spend in bed in the morning, just the three of us, is sacred (and only happens when Alex doesn’t have to work). Those moments, rife with laughter and silly games, snuggles and wet kisses, lit by the golden sun rising outside our window, are etched into my heart never to be forgotten. There are family walks and family hugs, Raffi dance sessions in the living room, father/daughter bonding galore—these are the things that we miss when Alex is working. There is so little time—if any—leftover in our normal life after all the hours have been worked, chores have been done, bills have been paid, diapers have been changed, messes have been cleaned up, naps have been taken, meals have been prepared and consumed. There is so little time to be a family. To just be. So that time becomes the most important, precious thing we have.

But. Here’s the thing…

There is no balance. We swing between extremes in our household—having no time, and all the time in the world. And I find it maddening and difficult to adjust to, which in turn makes it difficult for anyone else in the house to adjust to. Alex and I always spend the first few days of his breaks fighting, because I have a routine, damn it, and without it the house and the family fall apart. We seriously fall apart. The dishes are never done, there are toys and clothes strewn about the floors of every room, we have no clean clothes, we are feeding Emerson baby food from a pouch instead of homemade an hour past her regular meal times, there is no food in the fridge, Emerson goes on strike from napping or sleeping at night. We are all cranky and exhausted. I flip out, because I’m used to running this show, and suddenly I have Alex two inches from my face all day weighing in on (what feels like) my every move.

Suddenly, I have to have a long discussion and consult before making any decision. Suddenly, I’m being questioned. Suddenly, I’m forgetting to shower or eat breakfast or put Emerson down for a nap or get Emerson out of her pajamas before noon, because there is someone in the house who speaks in full sentences and I can’t stop talking to him. Suddenly, Emerson is perpetually distracted by the fun, exciting, loud man stomping around the house….and so am I. And it’s great….but it’s not….and why can’t I get anything done when there are an extra set of hands to help….why is the house a disaster….WHY…..is it time for you to go back to work yet….wait, I love you, don’t go…..blerg.

But, this is family time. It’s the most important, precious thing we have. We are all totally out of whack and barely functioning, yet this is what we spend the majority of our days and weeks and months waiting for. We are constantly looking ahead to the next time we will have the opportunity to not sleep or get anything done, and wake up together and snuggle in bed even though we’re cranky as hell. This is the time we will feel nostalgic for years from now, and we know it.

So, what about you? Any tips out there for making family time/family vacations less chaotic? Do you find things run more smoothly when you stick to some kind of routine during these times, or does that sap some of the fun of free time?

I’m constantly asking time to slow down—especially in these posts. For the most part, time only continues to move even faster. But, this month my prayers seem to have been heard. In last month’s post I wrote about Emerson taking her first steps at the age of eight-and-a-half-months, and how difficult that was for me. Well folks, there have been no more steps. It was like she took a couple and decided she wasn’t ready….that it was too much for her, too soon (and I’m a little relieved). Just like that, she changed her mind, after spending months obsessed with learning to walk and standing on her own. She decided instead to cling to me for dear life a little bit longer. Babies are so interesting in that way. They are such rudimentary versions of human beings, but at the same time are so wise and intuitive. They know when enormous shifts are occurring in their lives, and they have emotional responses to them.

This developement—or lack thereof, I suppose—has been a blessing and a curse, a concept not the least bit foreign in parent-land. Emerson has become even more affectionate—wanting to snuggle on the couch, lying on top of me in bed, nursing a gabillion times a day, hugging me over and over. But, all of this also means she doesn’t want me out of her sight all too much. And that right there is the rub of motherhood—your child’s admiration is flattering and heart-warming, but also exhausting and sometimes frustrating.

One of my favorite parts of Emerson’s noticeably increasing maturity, is watching her interact with others. It’s fascinating to see her “public self” emerge. At home, Emerson feels free to let it all hang out, but out of the house she is almost unflappable. What she cannot tolerate in private, she handles with ease when in public. And her personality really shines with strangers. I about died from cuteness and pride yesterday when I took her to our weekly mama/baby group. She had befriended a new baby the week before, and when she saw the baby this time she reached out and caressed her face so gently (meanwhile, her idea of being gentle with me involves slapping my face repeatedly, poking me in the eyes and pulling my hair). Then, Emerson reached for the other baby’s hand and they proceeded to hold hands. And they just held hands. For like minutes. I’m dying just thinking about it. After the hand holding, they hugged. And KISSED. I mean….I just can’t….Sigh. Dying.

I am also so in love with the fact that I seem to have given birth to a performer. Emerson’s dancing has reached a whole new level. She now sings along to the music while dancing, and in the absence of music she sings her own song to dance to. She has this crazy combination of an ear for music and rhthym in her body. She hears music everywhere—literally dancing to the hypnotic sound of my breast pump, the steady melody of our air filter running, the funny noises I make with my mouth to amuse her. It’s insane how many times a day the urge to shake her booty seems to strike her. All I can say is the girl was born with the beat in her soul.

The other night I was gleefully chatting with my husband over dinner one minute and putting my head down on the table in tears the next. I have been feeling so great lately, almost invinceable. But, with me, there is always a familiar sadness looming nearby…the sadness of being motherless. I have become quite adept, over the years, at distracting myself from its presence. But, once in a great while, I am overpowered—my body feels violently shaken, my lungs constricted, my mind kidnapped. In those moments, I wonder if I will ever be free of those feelings…those thoughts….those memories.

After a minute with my head on the table, and Alex telling me to “talk it out,” I got up and walked into the next room to breathe. I turned back, tears in my eyes, to see Emerson looking up at me, so tiny and concerned. It occurred to me in that moment that someday she will be standing tall like me, in her own home, looking down on her own baby. I felt better knowing that when that day comes she won’t have this heavy, unmovable stone in her chest, because she will have a different childhood than I did.

But, as Alex pointed out, I don’t know that Emerson won’t have some sort of sadness keeping her company throughout her life. I don’t know what her burden will be, what will scar her, what will challenge her. That’s the reality of human life—something I cannot protect my child(ren) from. All I can do is provide an example of strength and model the ability to cope and survive and feel joy regardless of the collection of bumps and bruises I’ve picked up along the way. And quite honestly, I’d rather my child have that kind of role model. I’d rather her see that we humans aren’t perfect—that we are broken, and that’s okay, because we can still thrive.