There's something to be said about a thunderstormy day. I always feel like it gives me permission to slack off, relax, and maybe spend the afternoon spread out on the couch with a book.
When I woke up this morning, the sunshine was waning and thunder was rolling in. It was all I could do to peel off my sweatpants and jump in the shower. But in spite of fighting a cold that has zapped every bit of energy from me since Tuesday, I figured sitting around like a bum in her sweatpants would hold some negative psychological cache. And that's not the example I want to set for Lily. She gets dressed every morning and, even when she's feeling crummy, Mommy does too.
The thunder boomed and the rain dropped its buckets outside my door, and I laid on the couch reading and watching sitcoms and feeling guilty that I wasn't spending "quality" time with Lily. I try to talk and sing and read to her as much as I can, but often she spends her awake time sitting in her bouncy seat or her Baby Einstein saucer reaching for things she can stick in her mouth. I try not to feel bad about it -- she's engaging with her environment and learning, even if I'm not paying much attention.
And, of course, there's her new trick: giggling. Hearing those little laughs was the bright spot in my week. And it made me so glad that I'm a mommy. Those little moments make everything else bearable -- being away from her while I work, still wishing my body would go back to normal, learning who I am now that another person is wholly dependent on me. She laughed! It was incredible.
In a small burst of energy today, when the clouds parted for a moment, we ventured out to the library to borrow a few board books. There are only so many times I can read Hop on Pop or Rainbow Fish or Goodnight Moon before I feel like my IQ is dropping, and I fear Lily's might too. The children's section of the library was the only part of the building I had yet to explore, and I was so pleased to find a rather large selection of books, even books for itty bitty ones. I flipped through a few board books, all with Lily on my hip gradually weighing more and more until I thought my arm would fall off, and picked out a few favorites.
The lady at the checkout counter asked if Lily was a boy or a girl. (She was wearing a nongirly green outfit so it was understandable, not like when I was at the doctor's office one day and she was wearing a little yellow flowered romper and I was asked if she was a boy or a girl. Umm?) After I answered, she asked how old Lily is and if I thought she could see things. You see, it was nearing naptime and Lily was engaged in what Adam and I call the thousand mile stare, where she doesn't focus on anything in particular and just stares. It's a sure sign that it's almost time to go to sleep. Suddenly, Lily's eyes focused on the lady and she smiled. There's nothing like a little gummy smile to make someone's day. I gathered up the books, said thank you, and took Lily home so we both could nap.