Lazy Sunday with Fustible Liddifer Jones, six weeks old.
I’m about to start my second week home alone with my infant daughter. (Wow that still feels weird and wonderful to say!)
Our days consist of snuggling, screaming, washing bottles, dancing, laundry, eating, washing bottles, sleeping, walking the dog, marathons of The Fall and Chopped, washing bottles and, if things go well for everyone, bathing and, for some reason, many trips to the post office. Oh, and poop.
The days go really fast. I am off work now for longer than I’ve ever been off work; off a scheduled daily routine for the first time since…oh, since I started first grade. I have always been in school full time or working or both. And now I barely have the brain space to think about these strange outside world obligations.
Until 3 a.m. when I’m awake anyway, feeding the babe and worrying, worrying, worrying…
I am (thankful to be!) on paid leave for what will ultimately add up to about 12 weeks. In this country, that is, alas, nothing to sneeze at. But let me be clear: this is not maternity leave.