Noah hasn’t been gone long (62 hours and ten minutes. Eleven minutes.) and already life has taken on a totally different rhythm. Child maintenance still occupies a lot of my time and energy (and arm strength, and patience, and goodwill, and early morning hours, and, and, and…) but the flow of the day is new and uncharted. Rosie and I are getting more one on one time than we’ve had since she was a newborn, and we’re figuring out how we roll together, just the girls. We share inside jokes and bowls of cereal. We try on shoes, and take them off again. We dance and sing and make up rhymes. We’re working on a secret handshake.
She’s happy with the undivided attention, I think, though the first thing she says when she wakes up from her nap each day is always “Whess NO-wah?” And for someone who has always had a roommate, it’s little harder to get to sleep at night now that she has those four walls all to herself.
Unsurprisingly, the noise level is not much different at all in the house. Rosie is a constant cacophony of sound. If she isn’t talking, she’s singing, and if she isn’t singing, she’s crying, and if she isn’t crying, she’s banging, and if she isn’t banging, she’s jumping. It reminds me that one of Noah’s gifts to us is the ability to hold Rosie’s interest long enough that she will sit with him to read a book or roll a car, busy legs still and crossed. Of course, Noah enjoys a good around-the-dining-table sprint himself, and his being away gives Rosie many excellent opportunities to train for future rounds of the Big Bro Chase and Startle.
This time together, it’s changing us, Rosie and me. We’re easier on each other, we laugh more often, we take trips for ice cream. There is a space for us to settle in together and lay a foundation for all our years ahead. And while I think Rosie will be beyond excited to see her big brother next week when he returns, in the meantime she’s digging her time in the spotlight, and hoping that tomorrow there will be ice cream, again.