monday makes it

When I was pregnant I worried mostly about Frances and Gabriel, and how I would surely neglect them when the new baby came. Only occasionally could I muster up sufficient imagination to wonder whether or not I'd have enough to give this new mystery person inside me. I didn't know her yet, so I didn't sweat it too much. I joked that she'd have to roll with things, she'd have to be adaptable; otherwise she'd really cramp our style.

But then she came and I loved her so much, just like the others, and she's not adaptable - if by adaptable I meant easy - because she's a baby. She yells. She insists on having her own bowl and spoon at the table and then after two bites flings them to the floor, sending yogurt or avocado flying. She slaps on the sliding glass door and hollers til someone takes her outside and pushes her in the swing. But oddly enough, because she is our darling baby, most of the time we understand all this as part of her charm.

She is the one I left to go to work with someone besides Mike. Four days a week she goes to Danielle's house, where she plays with Danielle and her kids (they are like her second family, her little blonde almost-siblings) and their friends. Then the weekend is busy: chores, playdates, T ball games, neighbors, church, Taco Sunday, backyard play. Beatrice comes along for the ride, missing naps, eating things like cheddar bunnies way before her brother and sister had made their dazzling aquaintance, logging lots of time in the car, and being generally exposed to all kinds of action. Occasionally Mike and I look at each other and ask: do we indulge her too much? does she eat too much sugar? Would she be walking and talking if we spent more one-on-one time with her? Is the chaos of the week too much?

But then, but then, while many people end their Sunday evenings feeling a bit of reluctance, even dread, about the work/school week that will begin in the morning, I think about Monday and smile. Monday is our day. Monday is the day I pretend to be a stay at home mom, and it feels so good.

I recognize that if I sat in the sandbox with Beatrice, chased her with a washcloth while she dodged and yelped, covered in hummus, and had no one but her to talk to everyday, I'd probably be pretty itchy about now. But since I only get to do it once a week, it feels so fleetingly delicious. Today we did an errand in the morning, played outside, brought dinner to Jess and her sweet new baby, picked up Gabriel at school where the weather was perfect and he begged to go home with a friend, nursed on a playground bench and then went home, sat at the table over mango smoothies with Frances while she and I played Uno, and finally walked with Frances in the fine spring air to pick up Gabriel at his friend's house. We ran into Mr. Dan, the world's most beloved gym teacher, and his wriggly seven month old pitbull puppy who jumped and made Beatrice cry. We met up with Mike at home, and he and Gabriel had a catch in the yard while I got dinner ready and Beatrice watched them, mesmerized.

Dinner was great. Afterwards the house was a crazy mess and I couldn't clean up a thing because Beatrice wanted to play a game where I crouch nearby and she fall-walks into my arms. Oh, so very close to walking! It was joyful and marvelous, the way she lurched forward, led by her big belly, and laughed every time she made the six or seven inches safely into my arms. Heaven.

Happy Monday, happy spring!