As I was balancing Ruby on my thigh, careful to keep her out of reach of my pad thai, “So, they named their new baby August, Gus for short. He…”
“Daddy! Papa! Dadadadadadadadadaaaaaaaaad.”
“Margot, mama is telling me about Jen and Jeff’s new baby. I’d like to listen to her. What do you need?”
“Look at my yellow truck. Isn’t is awesome?”
“Yes. Awesome. I’d love to check it out and play with you after dinner.”
“So, anyway, he is so sweet and you really do totally forget how small newborns are and it was so wild to hold him on the day Ruby went into the ICU. They totally loved…Ruby, no baby, that’s too spicy for you,” as I pry pad thai out of her fist and she arches her back in protest.
“How did the birth go? Were they…”
“Mama! I really need milk right now! And I think we should eat cookies instead of dinner.”
Andy fetches a cup of milk. Margot lets him know she wants the ‘smaller silver cup’. He transfers the milk. He tells her we can’t eat cookies until after dinner. Ruby wants to nurse. Margot wants to tell us a story. Alice hovers seven inches from my plate. Sam, our 18 pound cat, meows incessantly, terrified we have forgotten to feed him.
“Remember that deer? He had a broken leg. I felt sad about that. I really do think we should eat cookies.”
This is why Andy and I need dates. Our conversations happen in fits and spurts. I still haven’t told him how the birth went. It’s like one of those choose-your-own-adventure books. Our kids pick a different chapter and we follow, changing the story forever.
Our time with the girls is funny and rewarding, especially so when balanced with time without the girls. I re-remember this every time Andy and I have time together, where silence cushions our fluid stories and space surrounds our hand-holding. We had a date last Saturday. I wrote about it in this week’s mama digs, PUNCH IT*.
*A fun little tid bit: the PUNCH IT lady happens to be a local politician…
