I love Saturdays. Sam and Manny have a standing date on Saturday mornings and it is the only daytime where I feel completely off duty. I worked on my book, which I've been neglecting for a long time, and I cleaned the shower. I have been moving the cleaning supplies around upstairs for days with the intent to remove all the pink gunk off the grout, but it never happens. Just like how I try to do the same load of laundry all week long and it sits and sits until I have nothing left to wear. This bad habit is going to have to change. I have been wearing the same dirty pair of maternity jeans for three days and every day they collect more food and slobber and who knows what else.
It was so amazing to greet Manny when he came home from his adventure with Dad at Third Place Books. The look on his face when he saw me made me feel like Barack Obama at a supporter rally. He ran to me shrieking and threw his little arms around me. It was awesome.
The other day I watched a few minutes of a recent film that opens with Jamie Foxx telling his son's classmates about the best day of his life. The day his son was born. I've never related to that. The day Manny was born was not the best day of my life. I spent the morning writhing like a wounded animal, trying not to vomit and was freaked out of my mind for the rest of the day worrying that I would never sleep again, that my baby would never breastfeed, and to top it off, I was already concerned that Manny didn't like me. Sheesh.
The best day of my life keeps changing. As ordinary as my days are, they are filled with extraordinary moments of delight and pure, unreserved love. I am so grateful. I had no idea that this was going to be so wonderful. I really just thought kids were a big pain in the butt before. And I was just hoping by some act of grace that I wouldn't feel that way about my own. A pretty big bet to take, but it's working out beautifully.