Maybe I should explain that I'm unaware of dates and times and such because I'm at home a lot, away from memos and newsflashes and watercooler conversations. In light of the somewhat hermit-ish season that I've entered into, I've found myself pondering this life at home that Sam and I spend together these days, how quiet it is (in a larger sense, not to mislead you into thinking that there aren't pots and pans being beaten with spoons at various times during the day). I don't realize how small our little world is until I turn on the television or rev up the computer and find that there are all sorts of things going on out there that I am completely out of touch with. Some days, this really bothers me. Today, however, I can't help but look around at the overturned trucks in the den and the errant cheerios under the table and think that this quiet life with Sam is good. Hard, but good.
While I was putting on my make-up yesterday, which I economically wore again today, Sam entertained himself by tossing various items into our bathtub. He also found time to unload a shelf, dump out a large container of blocks and sort through some envelopes I had tucked away, presumably out of his reach. I couldn't help but think that raising this little guy feels a bit like a three-ring circus going on around me at all times. I haven't decided yet if I'm the ringmaster, or if Sam is. It's moments like those when I can't help but shake my head and laugh. And then Sam laughs with me.
I think that I've spent more time complaining about this season that I'm in than being thankful for it. If my younger self could see me now, I would sit myself down and remind me how much I wanted to be here ten years ago, married and raising children at home. I would probably kick myself in the shins for my forgetfulness and ingratitude. I have exactly what I wanted all those years of singleness and still I pine for some of that somewhat lonely freedom I had in spades and didn't want at all.
So, this is me confessing to being a selfish woman whose dreams of having children are currently coming true in the little person of Sam. The mall and the movie theater and the restaurants without high chairs can wait until I'm fifty. This season belongs to Sam, and I want to embrace with joy all the trucks and sandboxes and stuffed farm animals it has to offer.
*If you could remind me of this next time I tell you about the tantrum he threw at the grocery store, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks.
