I had my first executive meeting at Little Miss Sunshine’s preschool last night, and let me just say this: the cookies were fabulous. I think I am going to like it there very, very much.
Side note: Of COURSE I joined the preschool executive. I am coming to terms with the fact that I am a Woman Who Does Too Much. As I age, I’m finding it harder and harder to sit still unless my butt is parked in front of Dance Show (and even then, I’m usually folding laundry at the same time). I read this hilarious post by RealGrouchy the other week that went like this, “There are two types of people who complain: those who do everything, and those who do nothing. Each wants the other to do more.” SNORT. SO TRUE.
So, executive meeting! One of the ladies on the executive had a baby just three weeks ago, and there she was at the meeting last night being super productive with her three week old baby in tow and stitches in her Lady Parts. Now that’s the very definition of a Woman Who Does Too Much.
My point here, actually, is about the baby. Before I had kids I was never a kid person. I have a niece and three nephews who are older than the Captain and I’m not sure I ever really held any of them. I was never the cooing kind of doting aunt, nor was I the fun and games sort of aunt, nor was I even the aunt who remembered their birthdays. I was more like the aunt that said, “Hey, how’s it going?” when they answered the phone and then asked to speak to their mother.
And even since I had my own kids, who I adore with every inch of my being, I haven’t exactly warmed up to other kids. There are a few children of close friends who are close in age to my own who I really do love. Those kids I consider an extension of my own family. But random kids at the mall or park probably aren’t going to get much by way of my interest or affection. Those with runny noses can MOVE ALONG, thank you.
But that baby last night…oh my. He was so, so sweet. He was happy and sitting up and looking around and so very tiny. He fussed a bit in his mother’s arms and then nursed and fell asleep. He was so tiny and his little sleeper was so small and WOW, I just could have taken him home.
Not that I really want any more kids, and it certainly helped maintain the magic that I didn’t have to change his diaper, or get up at 2 a.m. to feed him, or try to walk around with stitches in my hoo-ha. Still, it was an unusual and odd experience for me to actually want to hold the baby, to see the baby, to spend the whole meeting thinking, “I’d actually share these cookies with that baby if he asked.”
This week we gave most of the baby clothes leftover from the garage sale to a charity and it actually wasn’t that hard. A few outfits made me nostalgic but the space in our basement is worth more to me, so out it all went. I didn’t feel sad about it, just like I didn’t feel sad to see the new baby last night, either. It was more of a wallowing in that warm, happy feeling of being a new mother, that cuddly feeling of joy you get when you hold your own little one.
I think I finally feel a kinship with the older ladies who used to accost me when I was out and about with a baby in a stroller. Am I destined now for a lifetime of going all mushy inside when I see a baby? Oy vey. There goes my badass reputation.