I found this while browsing through LD’s baby journal….
I’m tidying up at the end of the day. The house is quiet. It’s the usual – cups in the sink, magazine back under the coffee table, straighten up the cushions on couch but then, achingly, a tiny little stray sock, lost in the flurry of kicking legs that always goes with being in the highchair. Oh my. Life has changed. And in time, it may change again but for now, picking up a solitary little red sock after my baby son, the one who really, really prefers bare feet, is joy.
Awww, that’s so sweet. And deranged. If I pick up one more fucking sock, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
The reality of two children sure does take the romantic sheen off motherhood. Poor Zee. He’s just as gush-worthy as his big brother, and occasionally, I do jot down a moment of particular belovedness, but ultimately, life with lippy toddler and temperamental baby has beaten the sweet right out of me. I’ve changed one too many bums for all the flowery shit.
And of course, now there’s a new sock reality. Again, involving LD. He still doesn’t like to wear them but even more offensive to his anti-sock sensibilities is the idea that little Zee might wear them, too. We went through a stage of the disappearing socks some months back – before the time when I could count on Zee to pull them off himself. It was a mystery. Where had the socks gone? And why was the cold-footed little boy’s big brother sitting impassive and guilty as all hell as I searched fruitlessly? I eventually found the socks in LD’s wardrobe. And it was only after a serious talking to about the seriousness of frost bitten toes that LD’s strange obsession seemed to subside.
Yesterday, Zee had an outbreak of excema that made him scratch like an ice addict. It was awful. So along with the socks on his feet, I put a pair on his little hands to prevent further bloodshed. Apparently, this proved way too much for LD so when I discovered that Zee was no longer wearing any of the four socks, I knew exactly where to look…….