Eating My Words and Wanting More

As all young mothers, I have a list of things I said I would never do, and now, even just 9 months into it, I find myself slowly slipping. (Well, I guess not too slowly, since I just said I'm only 9 months into it.)

(Of course, there are still things I will never do because I find them to be shady, dishonest, and harmful to children. But that's a side note.)

Anyway, back to the story at hand. I had decided shortly before Madie was born that I was not going to allow myself to be made foolish--even when no one was looking--by my baby. I would not, for example, army crawl out of her bedroom if I heard her stirring while I was in there.

Of course, this I have not done. Army crawling is for those who really have a scrap of self-respect left. Instead of army crawling when I heard her sigh in her sleep and turn a little, I dropped to the floor like a cockroach hit out of the air. I lay as still as could be, hardly daring to breathe, and definitely not daring to glance over Madie's ultra-low, make-shift crib to see if there was any legitimacy to my concern. I craned my neck to get a look at the door. Ajar, yes, but only about 8 inches. I wriggled my way towards it, head-first, on my back. I turned onto my side so I could fit through the width of the door. I put my arms through first, and slowly worked my way through. When I got to the hallway, I crab-walked to the bathroom, so I would be out of her sight if she was looking (if she was even awake) through the doorway. I stood and came face-to-face with the mirror.

If my reflection were like Mary Poppins', she would have smiled condescendingly. As it was, I rolled my eyes at myself and went into the living room to take a nap.