First, I was overcome with a strange giddy pleasure when I read that our slew of marathon narratives were inspiration (and yes, she uses that very word) for Dr. Write to run a half marathon. She, of course, rocked.
Second, I spent the entire day yesterday at the Fair Haven State Park with 6 children and one really good friend, and we marveled at how our babies are all grown up. I mean, of course they are NOT grown up, but our youngest (hers 3, mine 2.5) are nearly maintence free on the beach. We sat at the water’s edge and watched our kids play and did not have to chase them, change diapers, pull our boobs from our suits to nurse anyone, and I could go on. We packed sandwiches, beach toys, and towels and threw everyone on the sand and the flopped into our chairs to enjoy looking at the too-young lifeguards and the fjord-like cliffs … oh, and to watch our kids. Not chase. Watch (and wipe sand out of eyes periodically).
So when I read Jen’s post this morning about letting Nola scream herself to sleep, I felt another giddy rush: I survived that. I’m through it. And if I could console Jen at all (which it’s questionable whether or not I can, because I remember feeling and knowing something so isolating and unconsolable when J-baby was a devil baby), I would say to her that the worse it is NOW, the better it is later. Not that later is any better than it would be otherwise, but that living through these specific hells make you appreciate when the hell goes away.
It’s like getting to stop after a run. Right now, Jen, you’re running. Running hard. And it’s a looooong grueling race. And when this one is over, there’ll be another. But they get easier.
I think. I hope.