Adult Days

I'm having an Adult Day.  Yesterday was too.  It's a day when all of a sudden, my happy-to-spend-all-day-changing-diapers-and-playing-with-plastic-rattles new mama self spontaneously combusts and all I really want is to do Adult things.  Like the dishes.  Or mopping the bathroom floor.  Or--for once--surprising my hard working husband by not only making dinner myself, but having it done before he gets home.

Arrive: the Middle Infant stage.  Our "super-mellow" baby is now an active, talking, play-until-I-am-so-tired-I-can't-fall-asleep child.  It's crazy.  It's like we're starting over with a brand new kid.  And yes, this one still sleeps through the night (I KNOW), but otherwise we have nothing figured out.  Our communication wires were unsympathetically ripped apart, taped up, then plugged back in to the wrong socket.

So now, while nursing, I am having to put down the first novel I'd picked up since the EPT test showed positive, and am returning to the Baby Instruction Manual.  

But this is how I get the Adult Day feeling to pass: I remember TIME.  And how it is fleeting, and how fast She is growing, changing, and do I really want to remember these early months as the time in my life when I Just Wanted to Wash the Dishes?  No.