Back To Life
Ahhh, home! Is there anything as delicious as that first day you get back to your house after a long absence? I think not! The bed is extra soft, softer than you remember it being, and was the apartment always this quiet? And who knew you had so many clothes! And look how much there is to catch up on TiVo - we'll never leave the house again! And ... was there always orange crayon covering that entire wall...? Hmm... and all over the air conditioner. Definitely wasn't there before. Same goes for the huge puddle of congealed red Jello in the refrigerator.
Okay, there are plusses and minuses. But nothing that can't be fixed by forcing the subletter to come over and clean the crayon off the wall, despite the fact that she is hugely pregnant and clearly in a sweat from the 95 degree heat and she has also informed you that her pregnancy is "high-risk."
"We are bad people," I whispered to Steven as we watched her scrub her son's artistic endeavor off our living room wall.
Steven pointed out that her husband could have easily taken it upon himself to clean the wall, instead of saying he would wait outside on the stoop. Good point.
But still, has Brooklyn ever been so lovely, 95 degree heat and all? The place is practically deserted because everyone with any sense or money has fled the concrete and the total dowdiness of being seen in the City in August. The people on the street are so skinny (nothing like a trip through the deep south to make you feel positively svelte) and fashionably dressed! No one is staring at us on the street with our Bugaboo thinking, what kind of inane East-Cost-liberal-homosexual-Jewish-freak contraption are those people pushing that poor child around in. And the food ... we can eat again, thank God. Last night we ordered a crispy sea bass with black bean sauce and even though by the time we got around to eating it (after realizing that poor, overtired Milo needed to be bathed, bottled and put to bed immediately) it was wilted and tepid, it was heavenly.
And best of all, being home means less time with Milo. I woke up this morning and, upon remembering that the babysitter would be here until 4PM, had to restrain myself from crawling back into bed because I was so overwhelmed with the gaping stretch of free time in front of me. (We'll unpack! We'll finish our projects! We'll write in our blog! We'll go to yoga! We'll get a facial! We'll take a walk! We'll buy groceries! We'll take a nice long shower!, assorted parts of my brain yelled simultaneously.) I realize that most working moms want to spend more time with their kids, not less, but one thing I learned on my summer vacation was that I am definitely getting too much Milo right now. Too much Milo and not enough yoga, not enough time to sit and stare into space, not enough time to buy myself pants.
Of course my feelings on Milo may change once I start seeing him less and missing him more. But for today let me revel in my freedom. I have eight baby-free hours. Has a more spectacular sentence ever existed? I think not.
Okay, there are plusses and minuses. But nothing that can't be fixed by forcing the subletter to come over and clean the crayon off the wall, despite the fact that she is hugely pregnant and clearly in a sweat from the 95 degree heat and she has also informed you that her pregnancy is "high-risk."
"We are bad people," I whispered to Steven as we watched her scrub her son's artistic endeavor off our living room wall.
Steven pointed out that her husband could have easily taken it upon himself to clean the wall, instead of saying he would wait outside on the stoop. Good point.
But still, has Brooklyn ever been so lovely, 95 degree heat and all? The place is practically deserted because everyone with any sense or money has fled the concrete and the total dowdiness of being seen in the City in August. The people on the street are so skinny (nothing like a trip through the deep south to make you feel positively svelte) and fashionably dressed! No one is staring at us on the street with our Bugaboo thinking, what kind of inane East-Cost-liberal-homosexual-Jewish-freak contraption are those people pushing that poor child around in. And the food ... we can eat again, thank God. Last night we ordered a crispy sea bass with black bean sauce and even though by the time we got around to eating it (after realizing that poor, overtired Milo needed to be bathed, bottled and put to bed immediately) it was wilted and tepid, it was heavenly.
And best of all, being home means less time with Milo. I woke up this morning and, upon remembering that the babysitter would be here until 4PM, had to restrain myself from crawling back into bed because I was so overwhelmed with the gaping stretch of free time in front of me. (We'll unpack! We'll finish our projects! We'll write in our blog! We'll go to yoga! We'll get a facial! We'll take a walk! We'll buy groceries! We'll take a nice long shower!, assorted parts of my brain yelled simultaneously.) I realize that most working moms want to spend more time with their kids, not less, but one thing I learned on my summer vacation was that I am definitely getting too much Milo right now. Too much Milo and not enough yoga, not enough time to sit and stare into space, not enough time to buy myself pants.
Of course my feelings on Milo may change once I start seeing him less and missing him more. But for today let me revel in my freedom. I have eight baby-free hours. Has a more spectacular sentence ever existed? I think not.
posted by Hana @ 9:26 AM
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