BROOKLINE — After a fun playdate with friends in the snow and sunshine yesterday, we took our boys, Søren and Austen, shopping. It was our first family outing (trial by fire) out in the world far from the protective bubble of the cozy nest we call home.
Brett and I each pushed a shopping cart, and each had a child to mind. As I always say, “Divide and conquer.” As we often do, we split up and shopped separately.
Before long, at the photo kiosk, Austen began to fuss; unhappy with the arrangement of being in his car seat, so I swaddled him and carried him around the store. He immediately regained his composure and fell into a deep, beautiful sleep.
I tried not to resent the fact that he could sleep, since sleep for me has been the most elusive thing imaginable these past few weeks.
Everywhere we went, I could feel eyes on us and could hear sweet little gasps and tender little whispers. A newborn ... awwww … how precious … oh, isn't he adorable?
I just smiled politely and expressed gratitude and looked down at the little miracle everyone seemed to be so impressed by. The sentiments warmed my heart, and a proud, tranquil smile took residence on my otherwise exhausted face.
* * *
And then, as though the needle was abruptly ripped off of a record that had just been playing a melodious tune, a little, cynical voice rudely spoke up in my head.
“Will you still feel the same at 3 a.m?”
“Will these sentiments still resound as a sweet mantra in your mind when that 'little bundle of joy' of yours is blowing out your eardrums with his blood-curdling screams?”
“How about when you rise in the morning after yet another sleepless night, after countless diaper changes, emergency clean-ups, and an endless cycle of feedings?”
“Yes,” I calmly whispered back while nodding politely at onlookers and baby admirers. “I will.”