Today started as any day. I woke when I heard Jameson, my 8th month old, crying. It was 5am. "Not bad," I thought to myself as I counted backwards in my head. "4, 3, 2, ... Wow, 10 hours! Awesome job Jameson!" I felt around in the dark for my Old Navy stripped bedroom slippers and slid them under the covers placing them on my feet. This is so that I don't get cold while I'm feeding Jameson, making it harder then for me to fall back asleep. I realized that if I never actually wake up during the feeding, I am a much happier person come official wake-up. I stumble to the door, grab my robe, open the door to the nursery, pick him up and try my best to situate him some where in the vicinity of a nipple. If we are both lucky, I am victorious and he eats and I am able to fall back asleep while sitting in the glider. That is at least until half time of the show, when we change sides and Jameson switches to full-on frantic mode as he searches for the rest of his meal. He finishes. I put him back in bed, hang the robe, drop the slippers systematically before putting each foot under the covers. I am nearly asleep before my head even reaches the pillow. The pillow which, with no regard for me, has now reached 6 degrees and feels like a cube of ice sliding down my face. I am fully awake, and now thinking of the mortgage, the dishes, the laundry, the emails I need to return, and what I going to bring to the dinner that night at a friends house. The dinner which I didn't even know about until 5 this afternoon, Lance had scheduled that one. "Oh yes," I thought, "I have an extra dessert casserole in the freezer for such an emergency!" I'm asleep.
Woken again around 8:30. Jameson is crying, but that wasn't what woke me. It was the vivid awareness that my husband was still in the bed beside me. The same husband who promised that he would go for a run and have the dishes washed all before I woke up this morning. That husband. He is huddled under the covers, with one hand sticking out - holding his iphone and checking emails. He just turned and said, "But it's so cold!" I reach over and put my frozen foot between his legs, causing him to squirm and yell, "Your feet are so cold! How are your feet so cold?!" which coincidentally was the exact response I was hoping for. I love my life.
Ah, but yes. The day flies on and we shift the responsibility of the dishes back and forth, until finally one of us crumbles simply because they can not handle the pile any longer. Guess who crumbles? He did feed Jameson though,and put up some folded clothes, and hack the Wii so we can play games we don't technically "own" on it. Okay, maybe some of that doesn't really benefit me that much, but still - he was busy. While he cleans up Jameson to head out the door for dinner, I get ready and suddenly catch a glimpse of that woman.
It totally stopped me in my tracks. I had never thought I would see her in my own house. Or at least not so soon. Her face looked more like the face of a woman than a girl. She had gotten a hair cut, but I recognized her. She looked nothing like what I would have described her as in my mind. I can only picture her in high school, eating only french fries for lunch, and laughing so hard people turn to see what is going on. But now, even her hands looked old, much older than her true age. Much older than she feels. Darn mirrors. Who would have thought of all the weapons in our home this simple cosmetic tool could have struck the deepest blow? My eyes filled up with tears, then I realized I just didn't have time to be sentimental. I did have an opening on Tuesday afternoon between a feeding and diaper washing, while Jameson should be taking a nap - I will wait until then to really have a cry. That's that.
I pull myself together and hear a voice, "What's wrong, sweetheart?" Of course! As soon as I pull myself together he has to walk in and be all chivalrous! Boo! BOO! Seeing as Lance has some magic ability to illicit tears from me exactly when I least want to cry, my resistance was worthless. I crumbled and muttered something along the lines of "the mirror... and my face... and i'm old... want to be a girl... but i'm a mom... and... just not the same... it's hard..." sobbing all the way through. He just hugs me and says, "I love you." I can't help but laugh, because that probably was the most least helpful thing he could have said at the moment, but man - he sure was trying. But you know what? Even though I could have really gone for a "But Danielle, you look just as young as the day I first set eyes on you!" or a "Love, You look wonderful, how could you possibly think you look a day over 20?" I have to say that as I lay down to go to bed, his "I love you." was the one thing lulling me to sleep.
So good to know that the thing that really brings me rest is not going to fade away with youth. It's just good.
