Today was the latest in a long line of quiet days spent at home. I've been feeling a little low over the last couple of days, possibly due to post-holiday malaise, but perhaps also due to the crazy barometric pressure (and let's not forget the bodily stress of spending two nights in a row up at all hours: first with friends and then with a cheerfully insane baby. Good old Grampa turning on lights and blundering around like the Three Stooges; he woke up that baby every time. So not only was Blake awake, happy, and pumping with get-up-and-go, but he was also so convinced that day had arrived that he did his "morning business"...which called for more lights and a fresh diaper. We're only tonight returning to what we in our family laughingly call normalcy. Oh, for the pleasures of a soft bed shared with only a husband! Oh, for the peace of a sleeping baby, and not one who's so restless that he'll sleep draped over your chest or not at all!)

Where was I? Oh yeah. Low.

I really miss my nearly-manic energy of the summer. I didn't think anything of getting up, starting laundry, cooking fresh food into baby purees, spinning out to play groups, feeding Blake consistently throughout the day, gentling him to sleep at regular times, exercising... Now it all seems like too much damn effort. Although I did do his laundry today (trust me, you don't want to get behind on your toddler diapers. Stink-o!). And I whipped through half-a-dozen pears for some fruity variety. But it was like doing the breaststroke through a river of molasses. Frustrating, because this is my last month at home (until summer vacation, one assumes) and I want to savour it. Plodding through with my head down & eyes averted is not the wacky fun happiness it appears from the outside.

Yesterday my mom took a bunch of light clothes to a co-worker who was born & raised in Sri Lanka. This co-worker took the clothes and sent them to where they would be needed. I gave up about half of Blake's old one-piece underwear, most of his towels, an unopened package of washcloths, and three of my own dresses. I purge my wardrobe every time I move, so I didn't have that much to give, but I still managed to part with a black-and-white patterned dress that's been too small for me since my first year of university (one day I'll lose the weight, but I'll buy a new dress on that day), a short brown patterned dress that I used to wear when I volunteered in middle school, and my infamous "low-cut pink sundress - the one that shows off my bra to such good advantage. The secret of that dress? It was four sizes too big for me. I hope it finds a good home in the wake of the tsunami.

Blake said "mama" today! I think he was just mimicking me, but he said it! He has been parroting our speech with increasing fluency; this week he's surprised us with "Abby!" "puppy!" and "daddy!" as well as the old favourites: bum, ding dong & beep.

I know every parent secretly thinks their child is the most intelligent being to grace the planet, and with good reason: only a parent has seen their child turn from squalling helpless plant to someone. And now someone who talks! Who feeds balls through shape-sorters and sends beads on short but wild rides along a track! Who knows that if he whines to Grampa, he'll get held & played with all through dinner! Who knows to cut that shit out when I'm the only one around! He's even learning to trust me when I change his diaper, and thus not to pitch himself off the table and into a righteous head injury. Props to Andrea; that whole talking to them with respect thing is the best technique ever.

Mama. Whoda thought?

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 1/03/2005 10:55:00 p.m.