All night I’ve been thinking–who can I get to hang out with us tomorrow morning? No babysitting Thursday mornings, see, and I’m faced with three hours alone with the dynamic duo, waiting to pick up Lily. Alone, in the house, with Mr. Mario Cart and Miss I Want Scissors I Want Painting I Want Coloring. Actually, both of those activities are fine, as they are individual and require nothing from me except, you know, something about every ten minutes, or whenever I get involved in doing something else. In short, the usual.
In my mind it wasn’t like this with Wyatt alone, and I know it’s true that we had our Thursday morning ritual of coffee and crullers. But I have given up the coffee, which I suspect was making me fat, and also the crullers, which I KNOW were making me fat. But for him, I would do it once a week. For him and Rory–well, that’s a less appealing equation. Their interactions are not always golden. I could take them to Lou’s, but breakfast would still have to be provided for the older two, so I feel that I would gain nothing.
What’s relevant is that I’m afrais to be alone with some of my kids again, and this is a familiar feeling and one I had sort of just barely grown out of. I still like adult company, but I was ok, for one morning, hanging with my little boy, running errands. Happier than I would have been running them on my own. I wonder if that will come back, or if it will always just have to be just one to get it back that’s going to be tough to develop for Wyatt, who’s the obvious candidate for any small activities or classes a three-year-old might be able to do after school. We will see, in some sense there is no rush, and yet there is. How can he feel that things are normal when something that was so integral to us together–those mornings alone with our junk food–are gone? But there is no friend to take Rory and no way to leave her alone with a sitter. Next week I can find time to leave Lily and Rory–in fact, I can do that until school starts. I feel better.
I have to admit to feeling no compulsion to be alone with Rory. I have grown very fond of her, but I woudn’t say the graft has quite taken, yet, and her need for me is so much greater than my need for her that the intensity of it can be tough to take. But then, sometimes it happens, and it’s fine. It’s just not the same.
Incidently Ambien is really wonderful stuff. There’s the guaranteed slinking into sleep, which I treasure, and there’s this feeling of lightness, as i lay here, getting ready for bed. Everything looks kind of flat, and my eyes don’t focus very clearly, and walking from place to place has become a bit drifty, like my typing. Letters wander. Mmm…Ambien.