I apologize for the long silence here. Thanks for your support & encouragement. I miss writing about our little life within our life even as I struggle to live it. You see, the problem is this:
Adorable: absolutely. It's like having an infestation of bunnies. Completely heart-warming, but still overwhelming. My house looks like it's been hit by a 28-inch tornado. My solution: throw a dinner party. Why, you ask? Because I've never recovered the brain cells sacrificed during gestation.
Dinner plans aside, life here is busy. When I managed to squeeze in time to do a little parenting research reading, I discovered that we'd skipped several months of developing because of Katya's determination to be on the move. The section for five month-old babies recommended we master sitting up unassisted. Where, I scanned the pages, was the information on unassisted, one-arm push-ups? Did the six months section cover: how to convince your baby that scaling the walls of her playpen is not safe?
Yes, she is Andrew's daughter. But really? Where's the genetic predisposition to caution that saturates my blood? When I did find the section of the book that describes our child it was under the heading: Accident-Prone Babies.
Does your child race through mobility milestones? Check.
Does your child move on to the next feat without bothering to consider the demands of gravity? Check.
Does your child need to put any and everything in her mouth?
Diagnosis: You may get to know the staff at your local emergency room on a first-name basis.
And I can't turn to scotch for solace.
There is no tranquility from which to recollect emotion and write. There are occasional minutes of preoccupation in safe spaces (high chair, bouncer seat, middle of the room) that allow me to eat or perform brief mindless tasks.
Currently, I'm writing this standing up, bouncing, while Katya naps in the carrier (because she doesn't like to nap out-of-arms- obviously). You see, I'm learning, making some much needed progress. I even washed dishes the other day, all while playing an elaborate game of fetch from the high chair. Major victory!
When I finally got around to enrolling us in mommy & baby yoga classes (so darn bourgeois-bohemian I can hardly stand it), I discovered something rather telling: Our local yogi welcomes babies 6 weeks to 12 months old, UNLESS they can crawl. Mommy & toddler yoga classes are for children starting at 3 years of age. It dawned on me: Zen and all that accompanies the art of breathing and posing is evidently not for those with creeping crawlers. No zen for me.