December 2, 2010

The 32nd Floor

Life these days is rather hectic.  Take for example today which included a home health nurse visit, an occupational therapy visit, a quick stint playing airport shuttle to my sister-in-law and nephew, a Target run, a dash through JoAnn Fabrics and a dinner out to celebrate cousin Molly's 30th birthday and my mother-in-law's last day of work.  Add to that pumping every three hours for a wee one who is still eating on that schedule, the perpetual cycle of laundry that comes with a new baby, the blow-ups and blow-outs that result in mid-day baths in the kitchen sink and the demands of a two-year old, and it's no wonder 'sometime' never comes.  

The sometime I refer to is the 'let's get together sometime to [insert have lunch, go shopping, have a cup of coffee or any other number of mom-on-the-go activities] that never comes to fruition.  The sometimes that I repeatedly tell myself must become a priority, but don't.  

My girlfriend and Sophie's former NICU nurse, Kendra, perhaps unknowingly, recognized this and firmly planted herself and her daughter, Libby, right in the middle of our day. We'd been talking for weeks of a momma date/play date involving some sort of holiday themed activity for our kiddies.  Kendra made it happen.  The mental picture I conjure up is that of a hurried business person scrambling to catch the elevator.  That person who shoves their briefcase between the doors, forcing them to reopen, and tumbles into the elevator car.  The air in the car becomes electric, almost frantic, until the suit is smoothed, the hair is tucked back into place and the posture is adjusted.  The same air that at once goes still when said business person sighs relief at having caught their ride to the 32nd floor.  

It didn't matter that Nurse Mike weighed Sophie and listened to her lungs amid the crafty mess on the dining room table or that Kymn, the occupational therapist, would be making a valiant attempt at stimulating Sophie's tactile senses on our sofa as a still potty training and half naked Libby danced her way across our living room floor.  Our proverbial elevator will arrive at laryngeal cleft surgery at 8:30 Friday morning.  Today though, when it stopped on the 32nd floor, we were momentarily, and might I add willingly, dragged off, arriving at this:

I can tell  you right now who ate more candy.  Channing.  One piece for his gingerbread house, two pieces in his mouth.  A half eaten piece for his gingerbread house, three more, including one stolen from Libby's house, in his mouth.  At two, you can just tell, Libby's got her mom's mad crafting skills.  She placed her gumdrops just so along the ridge line of the rooftop, pressing spearmint leaves into frosting to create the landscaping below.  The houses, regardless of the amount of candy eventually ending up on them, are darling, capturing the joy and innocence of kids and the holiday season that is now upon us.

Oh yes.  Among other things, Sophie now wears an eye patch for a good portion of every day.
Not much was said amid the idle chatter of the kiddies with regard to Sophie's upcoming procedure.  Am I ready?  I'm getting there.  I've at least pulled it together.  This time, I'll step onto that elevator with intent and calm determination as I hold tight to my wee one.  That shot of sugar and a whole lot of momma love helping give rise to the occasion.

Going up?

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