Between family visits and holiday goings-on, I've been a busy little such-and-such. Hence the lack of posting over the last several days. It's like I've been walking around with an itch I haven't been able to scratch. Aaaah, that's better.
I was standing in the checkout line at my little neighborhood health-foods grocery (God bless them for staying open and providing a third alternative to the exhorbitant WF and massive madhouse HEB), and I noticed a very pleasantly scented candle in a clear glass votive, and I thought of how nice it would be to have it sitting on the back of the toilet in the hall bathroom where there is no fan, so that any guest's malodorous adventure is immediately broadcast to the public areas of the house. Then the increasingly vertical cubzilla entered my little daydream, and he stumbled in, saw the pretty shiny thing, reached up on his tippy-tippy toes, got it in his grasp, and dropped it. The candle immediately got a big mental "X" over it.
I do this a lot. I don't wear white anymore because DUH. I have these killer heels that I hardly ever wear because I'm frequently carrying the cub, generally over pavement to get from the car to the whatever, and like I'm going to pull a Brittney because spunky flats just don't look as sharp as a good heel. I hardly ever have time to do more than powder and lip gloss for make-up, I rarely cook anything too exciting anymore because usually I'm cooking for us AND the cub and I don't see a 15-month-old choking down a seriously rare steak with foie gras sauce - or heck, even beef stroganoff, and there are loads of lovely things I'd love to have around the house except that I've surrendered it to Fisher Price, Leap Frog, and Little Tykes.
As a temporary change, I don't really mind any of this. In fact, I'm kind of enjoying the metamorphosis that is parenthood, and lord knows my cooking techniques could stand a little shredded sweet potato, ground oatmeal, and wheat germ to balance things out a bit. But I'm a little scared that after five years of this, when I can start reclaiming some of the house, my time, my wardrobe, and the menu, that I will have forgotten how not to be like this. I'll forget how great it feels to wear a stunning white cotton skirt. I'll forget to add those little aesthetic/artistic touches around the house that make it just a little more soothing and calming. I'll have forgotten how to make bearnaise sauce. And will I ever get the melody to "A Bicycle Built for Two" out of my frickin' head?