This past Friday Oliver and I went out to dinner. My mom was in town, and she encouraged us to go out and have an evening (or at least a couple hours) just the two of us. We walked to a French bistro in the neighborhood. It was fantastic. The owner, a Parisian expatriate in a stylishly ill-fitting sweater, showed us to our table and described the specials with a heavy accent. We had wine with dinner. I looked around at the other tables, marveling that these people have probably been living "normal" lives for the past four weeks. The whole world has probably been operating as usual, in fact. I'm the one that has slipped away for a bit. I was the one on a Friday night who felt sleepy at 9:30. I was the one anxiously checking the wall clock every few minutes, wondering if I'd been away for too long. I was the one whose mind kept drifting back to images of my son - fast asleep, staring up at me with the eyes I can't resist, laying in his bassinet with arms and legs flailing. We walked home at a brisk pace, Oliver I suspect because he was cold, and me because I wanted to catch a glimpse of those little eyes again.
I think I'm settling into motherhood nicely. The baby blues have come and gone, and the great mystery of "what on earth do I do with this child?" is a bit closer to being solved. It helps too, that Nils is such an amazing little guy. I know I know, every mother says that about her kid. It's most likely true too, that every baby is amazing. That doesn't stop me from thanking the good lord that this little one is mine. Can I gush just a little bit? I am totally in love.
Mine. All mine. Amazing.
