We had a busy day. Four members of the little angel's old daycare posse came over for a belated Easter egg hunt at Chateau Travolta. Four nearly-four-year-olds ran screaming about my house, tossing toys and princess gowns about like confetti. Six other adults, two of them pregnant and one toting an almost-grown-out-of-his-infant-carseat young boy, lounged about my "library," eating at the church-sized card table and shooting the shit. The event lasted almost four hours.
After the last couple left, the little angel and I rooted through her egg loot, then jumped in the car for a bang trim, which lasted a blissful six minutes. Next, we went to Target for cleaning products and a new Ariel swimsuit for the little angel, then to the Kohl's 50-percent-off sale for something for me to wear to BlogHer Business next week. I leave on Wednesday at noon, arrive home on Friday at 10:30 p.m., and have the little angel's fourth birthday party for her classmates on Saturday at 10:30 a.m. Thinking about this schedule makes me a little tired, but I'm looking forward to it all the same.
After shopping, we returned home to eat and play with her dollhouse. This activity was followed by Zingo, some horrific princess board game, Hi Ho Cherry-O and Chutes and Ladders. The little angel and I both deduced at this point that any game in which you can be sent back to zero for no apparent reason is a really fucking stupid game. I also taught her to use cuss using only the word "rutabaga" after a well-placed "DAMN!" escaped her ruby-red lips.
My husband left this morning to attend our niece (his goddaughter)'s first communion. We would've all gone had not the Easter egg hunt been already planned weeks in advance. I could tell he was sad to miss the big event, but the photos he texted me of our niece and nephews playing some sort of rock star video game more than made up for both of our regret in not being able to be at all places at all times.
By the time the little angel got in the bath, carefully holding her temporary-tattoo-covered arm aloft so as not to disturb her ink, she was strung out, sobbing over every little thing. When I finally gently asked her if she was tired, she moaned, "Oh, Mommy, I am so so so tired." I hoisted her from the tub, still sobbing, and wrapped her in a towel. Pajamas on, we climbed into her bed for books.
As I was halfway through one of the new Barefoot Books I'll be reviewing soon on Cool Mom Picks, I looked down to see her red lashes fluttering. On the first book. This has got to be some new World Sleeping Record for her. I kept going. When we finished the first book, she was twitching, but I didn't want to get out of bed. I read the second book to myself, then sat there awhile, staring around at her pink walls and stuffed bears, her many books and her music box, and felt peaceful. I realized how different I feel now than I did when she was first-born, and I was wondering if my life would ever again feel normal. This feels normal now. This routine is what I expect, what I live for. I would not trade anything for having my daughter breathe deeply by my side, content and comforted after a long, wonderful day. What a beautiful little person she is.