My 10-year-old spoke with me for a solid 30 minutes tonight about the book he’s reading, a book he’s chosen to read just for fun; we talked about the plot, the innuendos, the characters, how much he loves it, how he doesn’t want to finish it quickly because then he won’t have the story to look forward to anymore. And then I told him about the book I’m reading and, honest to god, I was just writing poems about how I couldn’t close the door while I went to the bathroom and now we are having conversations about whether fiction or memoir moves us more. How in the world, right?
He laid down as we finished talking and stretched his giant body, which meant that his feet almost touched my nose. If you’re in the rut of babydom and you haven’t showered a real shower in a few, know that you have lots of fun — nerd-book fun is still fun — to look forward to.
It just keeps getting better, honestly. I mean, you never really sleep again — as far as I can see on the horizon, anyways — but you can talk with someone who’s generally reasonable (unless they’re asking for more time on the damn Xbox) and it’s worlds away from the days when you’ve narrated your day entirely to a human who’s just taking it all in.
“Now, you and I are going to go and get groceries because Mommy keeps the house moving....” What? You didn’t passive-aggressively talk to your babies? Well, how are they ever going to be able to understand all of the nuance in literature?
I kid. Enjoy what you’ve got. Ferris was right, “Life moves pretty fast.” (Like, not at 2am when your baby’s crying with an ear ache, but eventually).
Eventually they write notes like this to people they love because they know that words matter in letters and books and all the ways possible.
Eventually they become even more than you might have wished for when you shut the door real quick just to take a 2-minute break in the bathroom.
It’s worth it to give what you’ve got; you get it all back eventually. Somehow. Eventually.