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The little things

The little things

I work from home as a writer and editor, and I have little pockets during the day to get stuff done. Otherwise, I’m burning the midnight oil. That means I count on naptime for our almost 10-month-old (!), so I can plop her big brother in front of his blocks or a coloring book or,...

FullSizeRenderI work from home as a writer and editor, and I have little pockets during the day to get stuff done. Otherwise, I’m burning the midnight oil. That means I count on naptime for our almost 10-month-old (!), so I can plop her big brother in front of his blocks or a coloring book or, yes, the television or tablet when I’m really desperate, and knock off a few projects on my weekly to-do list. But as any mother can tell you, just when you settle into something of a routine, things change. Like our baby girl going from three fairly predictable naps every day to two. It’s messing me up!
The mid-morning nap isn’t part of our day anymore. She’s graduated to a late morning cat nap—30 minutes, tops (oof, really?)—and a late afternoon nap. That second snooze is right around school pick-up time, and once the older two are home, it’s a whirlwind of snacks and karate and homework and dinner/bathtime/bedtime. And that means I have no hope of doing any work work until after everyone’s in bed.
So, fewer naps. No bueno. On the plus side, she’s become reliably self-entertaining. I can sit her on the floor with blocks and her brother’s toolbox and all sorts of interesting odds and ends, and she’ll throw things around or scootch here and there for a good 20 minutes. It’s just enough time for me to unload the dishwasher or fold a load of laundry or prep whatever we’re having for dinner. (Don’t be jealous of my glamorous life.) I’ll tell you, I’m grateful for the little things. Up until last week, I was doing all those fun tasks with a baby on my hip or strapped to me in the carrier. Or I was hustling through them during naptime while brainstorming blog posts and mentally writing press releases.
I see this for what it is: a small window before the next change in our routine. And that one will be a doozy. Scootching is an imperfect method of locomotion. She’s moving backwards, first off, and it’s slow-going. Advantage me, because she’s really not getting anywhere. But at some point in the not-so-distant future, she’s going to either figure out a more efficient way of getting around on all fours, or she’s just going to start walking. And then I’ll be reminiscing about when I used to sit her down for a guaranteed 20 minutes of getting-stuff-done time. And double-checking the baby gate and outlet covers.

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