My facebook feed is equally full of (1) pictures of Mardi Gras revels, and (2) the woeful sorrow of my former law classmates who left New Orleans and wish they were partying on Fat Tuesday. I fall into the latter camp, and I submit that it is particularly cruel to be a Mardi-phile who lives a scant few miles from the action, but who is kept at home with an almost-but-not-quite-old-enough infant, and an almost-but-not-quite-well-enough postpartum body.
We went to one parade as a family, and it was too much for me – I could tell while we were there that I’d pushed it too far. It was too much for Craig, too, and we had a rough night that night. We tried to do a downtown parade yesterday, but getting out the door proved to be too great a task to accomplish in a timely fashion, and we arrived at the route just as the last glittering float was disappearing over the horizon. (We bought the boys donuts as compensation for getting them all hyped up to catch some beads, and then failing to deliver.) Last night, my parents-in-law, siblings-in-law, and the Professor all went to formal balls, but I stayed home with the baby. Today is Fat Tuesday, and the boys are downtown at a parade now, but as I slept only a few scant minutes last night, Craig and I again stayed home.
So I have the Mardi Blahs. It’s also been very blah outside – overcast, chilly the last couple of days. The Mardi Blahs are turning to the Baby Blues, so I bought myself a yellow cake mix with a tub of chocolate frosting to perk things up. The Professor has dutifully taken several pictures and described the celebrations for me. He’s also offered to keep the baby and give him bottles so I can go watch a parade, but the crowds and chaos and physical activity is just too much still. So I send him off, live vicariously through him, and continue to snuggle my baby in my increasingly boring house. I do have a gift certificate to a massage that I won as a door prize almost a year ago, and I plan to use that soon. I have something restorative to look forward to.
So . . . the bloom’s a bit off the rose. I’m definitely not eager to go to work, but I would love to start jogging with Craig in the stroller, and going to an exercise class, being able to regularly cook good meals again, having more than an hour or so between feedings to get things accomplished – and of course I’m just dying for some good sleep. I am itching to re-organize my own closet, which over the past year has become the receptacle for Stuff I’d Rather Not Deal With Right Now. I want to do our taxes (I think we get a little refund), look at our finances, plan for the three CLEs that I am teaching while out on this maternity leave. There are little boy clothes that need to be sorted, moved up a size, and we need to purchase some new spring outfits for our ever-growing oldest son. I want to make a list of home purchases (like mats for the bathrooms, a rug for the front room, a runner for the front hall, master bedroom furniture, etc.) and prioritize it, then set up a direct deposit into a little house fund and start pinning ideas on pinterest. I’ve written dozens of blog posts in my mind while my hands are tied up feeding this kid, only to have the inspiration fly away as soon as I get my hands free. My mind spins with all the glorious organizing I could be doing while I am not at work, but my body and baby keep me pinned to the couch.
(If anyone says – Just you wait, after you’re back to your hectic work schedule you’ll wish you could go back to this time again – I WILL KILL THAT PERSON. If you are tempted to share this bit of wisdom with me, RESIST THE TEMPTATION, I URGE YOU.)
Sigh. Anyway, Craig is going to smile at me any day, I know it. He’s very close. I am owed a smile at this point, so I keep coaching him towards it. I’ll be able to run probably in about a week. The taxes will keep, as will the closet and the seasonal clothes shifting and the house fund. The feedings will stretch . . . they already are, though inconsistently. I’ve just got to ride out Fat Tuesday, with my face pressed against the glass. Tomorrow, Ash Wednesday, the outside world will go back to boring again, which will make my boring inside world a little easier to endure.