So, tonight, my issue is this. Vivi is now ten months old. Yeah, I know. It's incredible that a pregnancy can drag on for "years" and then, once the baby arrives, time begins to speed all out of control. I guess it has something to do with the fog that new parents are often in for about the first six months of a baby's life. Or maybe, it's just that there is so much to do that days pass without much notice or analysis. In any case, ten whole months have come and gone and I don't for the life of me have a clue how it happened.
For the last couple of weeks (for Blake, the past month or so), we've been considering putting Vivi in her bedroom. She has been sleeping in a bassinet in our room since we brought her home. It was really for convenience sake since I didn't want to have to climb two flights of stairs every time she needed me during the night. But, given the length of time she's been in our room, I've gotten so used to her noises and habits; her little bald head peeking at us from the crib when she wakes and immediately stands up to survey the world.
I'm sure every mother can relate to the well of tears that is ever present and ready to breach the levy when a child takes a new step. It doesn't really matter what that step it is, it's just that every step is a step away. I remember when Cayton was little and I thought that no one explained to me that the hard part of parenting is not the physical work, but the emotional.
I mentioned that to my mother, who incidentally has not gotten over me leaving home two years early, and she just laughed. Then, she said, in her special Gwen way, "It's a real ass kicker, isn't it?"
