Control
“I live with a baby.”
“Parenting Is The Easiest Thing In The World To Have An Opinion About But The Hardest Thing In The World To Do.”
As soon as I think my feet are about to touch the floor, the soles are met with a harder surface and the song that plays annoys me even more than the first time. I use the same foot to kick that to the side and make my way out of my bedroom only to stub my toe and screech in anguish!
”Ooww!!” I hop around in a circle to find that I am being mimicked.
“Ooww!!” He repeats it just in case I missed it the first time.
In spite of the pain, I manage to chuckle to myself. As I flick on the light and survey the room, I, first, note the culprit. It’s his lone tow truck. (Only Lord knows where it’s cars are hiding.) I, then, decide to catch my thoughts before they run any further. I make a conscious decision to stay present instead. “Control the controlables,” I think to myself for the umpteenth time. Bath toys are sprinkled in between the patterns of the area rug. Elmo is laid out in front of my couch as though he had a long night. A trail of cutting boards, muffin tins and mixing bowls lead me into the kitchen. More and more deeps breaths are released as I remind myself that this is my very uncontrollable reality. I wonder if I should have stayed up a couple of moments after he fell asleep to pick up. But I was tired. This is my reality. I know to give the speech before anyone comes over: “I live with a baby. My house is reflective of that...” and simply deal. Everything cannot be picture perfect. I’m no longer a bachelorette who can ensure that her home remains clean throughout the week until the following weekend’s cleaning appointment. No, that is my past life and it will remain just that.
So, yes. You read that correctly. I live with a baby. It’s his world and I’m simply living in it. Much of this experience means things will happen that I didn’t plan for and THATS OK. Pivot and accept.
