I recently attempted a near impossible feat. Sure, whatever, most of you do it daily, right? And maybe I do too. But here is the thing, and yes, all I could think about while I did it was my farmer friend who has three boys all under the age of four. And the newest one is younger then mine. He was born in March, I think.
Regardless. I spent a good chunk of yesterday afternoon transplanting things out in the rain, among them, a huge lilac bush.
And quite fitting, my little one, who's placenta was planted underneath it, wanted to be in my arms the entire time. I don't know if you are like my friend and frequently don both a shovel and a wee one, but it's quite the task. Especially if they aren't gung-ho about it.
The past few months of my life I've been remembering again what life with a really little person is like. Granted, I've done it for a job for the past two years, but this is a round the clock kind of a thing. This is the kind of a thing where you need to take them into a fitting room with you when you try on pants. (Rare event that that is...) This is when it takes an hour and a half to drive twenty miles home when someone isn't all for riding in the car. This is an explosive diaper experience when you are measuring out bulk coffee at the co-op...and suddenly realize EVERYTHING, including you, especially you, is covered in yellow baby poo.
Don't get me wrong, I love life with a little person. Two little people. It puts everything into perspective, including what is really important and what is just, well. you know. There. Our days are really really special. I wouldn't change them for a second. And I know someday they will be gone and my girls will be huge and I will miss their chunky little thighs and larger then life eyes. Their love of all things pink, fairy princess and shoes that click when they walk.