Baby Girl is writing a new chapter in her second year of life. The words are "Daddy" and "Bopple" repeated over and over, and they, along with screeches and rejected scraps of food and scrunched up faces, form long sentences that stretch for whole afternoons. The sentences are punctuated with sweet moments. The sweet moments are the commas, semi-colons, exclamation marks. I realize that in every great book, though, there are difficult chapters to read. There are chapters that make us feel uncomfortable and on edge but we know we have to get through them, we're bracing ourselves to read faster so that we can get through them to the part where all is resolved or the denouement casts light on what was murky for so long. Both Lovey Loverpants and I are trying to get through this chapter and are trying not to rush ourselves through it, but it is a rocky one that we are reading and writing right along with Baby Girl.
A friend asked me recently if I still felt exhausted and I said that the physical exhaustion has given way to an emotional exhaustion. Sometimes, when it's clear that both the girl and I have just grown bored of one another and we are biding our time until Daddy gets home, I just kind of want to sit back and read a book or watch "Oprah" or give myself a manicure. But I don't. I sit and nod for the eleventieth time that yes, that is a bottle of lotion, and yes, let's read Gossie and Friends just to see if they still find Oliver at the end SPOILERS, and just as the blood vessel behind my left eye is just about to pop from the tedium, Daddy gets home or saves the day, or Little Miss Sunshine emerges with a gratuitous hug for her mother, along with a sloppy licky-kiss and a pinch of my earlobe and I know that I must have just been stuck on a paragraph; I just needed to turn the page was all.