Skolarbetet och böckerna som ligger här bredvid är ungefär en meter hög (utan att överdriva…ok…lite). Hörde en förnuftig människa som sa att det lätt kan bli så när man skjuter fram allt skolarbete, vilket jag är mästarnas mästare på! Där vinner jag pris i alla grener. Då jag spenderar näsan i böckerna överlåter jag bloggandet till andra. En av mina favoritbloggar – alla kategorier är Daily Damara hon har fått äran att få vara med på ett hörn här Hemma hos Segerstens eller är det jag som fick äran över att hon ville vara med… Hon skriver alltid äkta och genuint med en glutta humör. Så här har ni henne som får underhålla er under dagen. Lovar att återkomma senare! På återseende!
As I stand here in my kitchen, picking pieces from a cake I just baked and stuffing them in my mouth (I’ll cover the missing bits with frosting later) while my Swedish family is at the Melodifestivalen rehearsal at Globen and my American family are probably enjoying some delicious Taco Bell, I’m missing my baby. This baby, Jamie, who I have spent all day with, who has exasperated me beyond anything that the single, childless Mara of yore could have imagined. This teething, coughing, snuffling little baby who would not, could not, take a nap despite desperately needing it is the reason that I’m at home tonight picking at a cake in silence instead of pumping my fists awkwardly to David Lindgren. But I still miss him. And he’s only just upstairs sleeping.
Is there something wrong with me? I’m quite certain the single, childless Mara of yore would think so. Indeed, the sleep-deprived, covered-in-poop, panic-stricken Mara of this morning is a bit creeped out. And creeped out even further by the fact that I keep sneaking upstairs to make sure he hasn’t suffocated on his own snot.
But really, how could I not miss him? He is the catalyst for the greatest imaginable increase in my capacity to love. And that’s putting it rather simply, right parents? So much that didn’t matter before him now matters. When he laughs, I feel my shoulders melting all the way down my body until I’ve become a puddle right where I was standing. When he cries, I feel my shoulders freeze all the way down my arms to my hands, which must take action to fix whatever is wrong. When I look at him I see the very best of my husband. I see a million dreams, a million possible outcomes, and in all those millions I can’t ever imagine not loving him and not missing him when he’s not there. Even if he crapped on me this morning. Even if I didn’t get to go out tonight.
It’s taken me just long enough to write this that I picked at the cake so much that I was forced to cut the top half of it off. It’s been about an hour, so Jamie is due to wake up screaming any minute. I’ll go upstairs and try to give him his pacifier even though he won’t take it because then he couldn’t breathe through his stuffed-up nose. I’m running out of tricks, though. Maybe if I offer him some cake. I’ll be desperate for him to fall back asleep and eventually he will and then I’ll start missing him again. Which is when I’ll sneak in his room and watch him breathing peacefully through his little heart-shaped mouth. Just like the creep that I clearly am.
