I feel as if I'm just now getting to the point with Cubby where I can do things again. And by "things" I do not mean resuming my pre-child frantic social schedule (HA) (HAHAHAHAHA) or once again wearing stylish clothing and jewelry (again: HA and HAHAHAHAHA).
I mean things like doing some minimal cooking in the kitchen while he entertains himself in the living room without breaking himself or anything else.
Things like washing dishes while he eats some peaches and stares out the window.
Things like working in the garden while he occupies himself.
Things like vacuuming the stairs while he plays in the parlor with the tube attachment to the vacuum cleaner.
Things like telling him I need to go put the clothes in the dryer so he can just stay in the living room and keep playing while I go in the cellar. And he does it.
Things like drinking my coffee while he eats his oatmeal for breakfast.
In sum, he's getting more independent and I'm getting more done. Which is why I'm getting a slight sense of foreboding about the imminent future with a newborn. Because I still remember what it's like to not be able to get anything done. Or at least feel like I'm not getting anything done. First because of the sleeplessness and constant feeding. Then because of the precarious locomotion and obvious intent on self-harm that comes with it. Then because of willful disobedience. Cubby has passed through all of these stages* and I have come out the other side, only to begin them anew.
Oh well. There's also the first smile and first steps and all the fun stuff to look forward to. Must focus on the positives. And get as much done now as I can.
* Okay, truthfully, we may not be quite done with the willful disobedience yet. Or ever. Kid's stubborn as a mule, with the temper of an irritable bear on occasion. I can't imagine where he gets it.**
** I don't have to imagine. He gets it from both parents. Neither A. nor I is the laid back type. Sorry, Cubby.