Look Lean Go

And after a three hour nap or so that pushed me into the 2 o’clock afternoon hour, I’m right where the day started, downstairs by myself with Emma and her not being able to be appeased.  Neither in that rumbling chair nor in my arms, nor by the glass door where she could see outside (a moment ago her showing signs of intrigue with sights of the trees and some of Jackie’s toy trucks and cars and other articles).  So we’re here, looking, me leaning over her reassuring everything’s okay and that I’m here…  On the floor, me typing and her at the moment mildly content, staring at the glowing Apple logo on the back of the laptop screen.  Think I found something here, or at least for a couple seconds.  With a newborn a writer only has the second-to-second reality, not much time to edit and certainly no luxury of pickiness or excessive selectivity with words.

Alice out on a well-warranted errand, after manning Emma’s post while I slept upstairs, in Jackie’s room, under that felt red blanket I prefer when I sleep on the pull-out bed next to him.  Not stressing about all I haven’t yet had the chance to do today, from the adjunct duties to clearing my desktop, to budgeting, to something else I’m forgetting I’m sure.  Coffee over on kitchen island but I’m fearful of rising, that that will disrupt her meditation (she now looking at the swinging animals then the logo, and now saying something to me).  What do I do?  Go…  GO!  Do I chance breaking her Zen by retrieving my coffee on the counter or do I just stay.  Here.  Typing.  And there she dives in to a cry.. then it stops, then she squirms, moans, does that animal-like breathing, rapid and short then tightens her brow, changes color to an indignant red.  Now, she looks at me, to see what I’ve learned and what I’ll do.  What do I tell the petit professeur?  What do I show her, what do I submit?  Is she telling me it’s okay to get my coffee?  Or do I want to just look back at her?  I’ll never get this moment again, I know.. so I calm down and talk to her while she grieves and chirps, yells and yodels.  But MY frustration is pulling at me.. pushing me closer to her.  “Hold her so she stops!” it says.  But my arm is getting tired.