Rushing around to get everything done, I know that I am quite a picture as I march into Target, the baby in the sling, the toddler on my hip. We zoom around the store, singing songs and pointing out interesting things in the store -- toys, markers, shirts, diapers -- my almost-2-year-old repeating the words as I say them to him. The baby reaches for her brother and I gently move her hand away. The store is our playground this morning.
One day a week I am with these two. The other six days (except in the summer), I work outside the home. My job is wonderful, fulfilling, and thankfully, flexible. That doesn't mean it's not a lot of hours. So this one day, I treasure with them.
As we leave Target, the baby is almost instantly asleep, worn out from seeing the world from my hip. The bigger one is sleeping within 5 minutes. My first instinct is to wake him, jerk him out of that netherworld of dozing, so as to earn for myself a longer afternoon nap. My next is to watch him in the rearview mirror, loving his beautiful baby look as he sleeps. I turn the car and drive towards Starbucks instead of home. I order my coffee (iced, hazelnut syrup, splash of milk...the poor mama's latte) and drive slowly home. I park in front of the house and sit, breathing deeply, drinking coffee, listening to the soft sleeping noises of my two little ones... debating to take them inside, let them nap...and then the baby wakes up, slowly, quietly, and looks around. Her brother continues his beautiful sleep...and then it's over. He wakes up, and we move on with our day. My quiet moments are shattered but now we're moving...doing...being.
Booty (pirate), bubbles, and the bike...followed by a little bit of Elmo's World as we cool off from the heat outside. I sit on the floor and they battle over my legs, she is trying to crawl over them, he wants her spot. There's enough room for both, I try to say, but he will have none of it. I squeeze little toes and knees and fingers and tushies as they wrestle and writhe around the living room floor.
I am mommy...my very body belongs to them. They use me as a jungle gym, horsey, pillow, snack. Even when I'm at work, my thoughts are with them. Priorities? It doesn't even begin to describe it.
This post was written as part of MamaBloggas September Group Writing Project.