7:17 am: You wake up. Unlike most mornings when you replace the monitor static with coos and chortles and yelps, you cry. Overtired from an Easter weekend away from home, perhaps. Lonely for some family, perhaps.
7:18 am: Big Friend opens your bedroom door. Cat scoots in. Cries stop. Coos begin. You wave and wave and wave to your beloved cat.
7:27 am: You nurse greedily, making up for the twelve hours of fasting.
8:09 am: You climb the steps. Joy of joys.
8:15 am: You get the unaccustomed privilege of waking up Little Friend. You pat her back (whap, whap, whap). You ruffle her hair (snarl, snarl, snarl). You urge her to wake up (Coo! Coo! Coo!). When she wakes up, she extends a sleepy hand to your face. You rub your cheek against her hand.
8:59 am: You head out to the car to chaperone Little Friend to preschool.
8:59 1/2 am: You head back inside to get the carseat that was taken in with all the luggage last night. Bare head, no coat, a wintry April morning.
9:05 am: Little Friend delivered safely to preschool, your head swivels back and forth watching all of the other parent/kid traffic in and out of the church. I tweak your cold, red nose as we leave. You wave over my shoulder to the older woman walking out behind us.
9:17 am: You yawn. You head back to your nursery for an early nap.
11:11 am: You wake up chattering. We tackle a diaper that looks like a deviled egg may have exploded in it.
12: 09 pm: The check out clerk at the grocery store says, “Look at his big blue eyes!” In her defense, you were wearing a blue shirt. It had a pink pig on it. But still.
12:09 1/2 pm: We’re chased down by a pimply grocery clerk. He informs me you’ve lost a shoe. We backtrack to the lost and found where the wandering shoe is unearthed from a bin. A form is filled out, and I have to sign for it. Yes, I sign to regain ownership of a baby shoe.
12:30 pm: You chow down on some lentil chili. Very proud of feeding yourself some fistfuls. You narrate in babbles while Little Friend and I make berry gummy snacks.
1:15 pm: After gnawing on the head of a Snow White toy, you break into tears when I poke my head into the playroom. Naptime.
1:59 pm: Still awake and talking in your crib. Then, over the monitor, I hear a long silence and some sucking noises as you and your magic blanket drift to sleep with a little help from your thumb.
4:00 pm: You wake up. We deal with another exploded deviled egg.
4:25 pm: Back outside to spring sunshine and winter temps. With just a few minutes to freeze nose, fingers, and toes, you watch Little Friend and her friends run around the yard, blow bubbles, and draw with sidewalk chalk. You jump up and down on my lap, urging your little body to frolic with their big bodies.
4:59 pm: You eat a few gummy snacks.
5:47 pm: You eat a few crayons while we pick up the play room.
6:00 pm: You eat a few bites of chicken, couscous, and spinach. You end your meal by tensing your whole body, arms and fingers spread wide, yelling at the top of your lungs. It’s pretty clear this is “All done!” in Little One language.
6:07 pm: For whatever reason, you snuggle in my arms and give me five hugs in a row. Just because.
6:11 pm: You attempt to hula hoop. It goes about as expected.
7:19 pm: Done with your bath, laughing with Little Friend over nonsense and running and nakedness.
7:42 pm: You pause, mid-nursing, to sign “All done.” You smile. You hug. You attempt to break free and make a run for the door.
8:01 pm: After some crying that escalates instead of settles, you are saved by Big Friend. You quiet and nestle in his arms in the rocking chair.
8:23 pm: Asleep for the night.