Sweet Disarray

K has been inconsolable all day. He wants to be held all the time. If he's not being held, he's on the floor writhing and crying and jamming his little fingers into tiny fists. It breaks my heart and at the same time, I'm exhausted. I'm sick too and my body is tired and part of me just wants to lie on the couch and let him wail.

But I don't. Well, not for more than I have to to make lunch or go pee or pick up something off the floor (he's too heavy now for me to bend down while holding him). As I type, he's strapped to my chest, sleeping, finally. I'm standing by the side of the bed with my laptop propt up on pillows. I've been standing for the last hour and will probably (hopefully) have to stand for another hour. If I sit down, he wakes up.

I'm complaining, I know, and this blog is not supposed to be about complaining. It's supposed to be about pretty, happy things or at least thoughtful, considered things. Not tired complaints.

But here we are.

My back hurts.

I'm tired.

I'm sad that my baby feels so bad.

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C and I started making a double batch of sugar cookies this morning. We've had the TV on non-stop since they've been sick, but C is feeling a lot better and I wanted to give him something fun today even though he can't yet go outside. He loves to bake with me and was so excited when I suggested we make some cookies. I let him open the box of butter and lay the sticks out to soften, he poured the sugar and counted the cups of flour I poured into the mixer. When the dough was mixed, he had a go at rolling it out and then I gave him a little ball of dough to play with while I finished up. (Meanwhile, K was strapped to my back.) The rolled out dough is now waiting in the fridge (I use the Cookie Craft technique - mix, roll, refridgerate, cut, cook, refridgerate again if needed) for us to cut into shapes.

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From the time I was a very little girl, my grandmother would let me help her in the kitchen. She had (and still has) a tiny kitchen, but there was enough room for me to stand on a stool and pinch pie crusts or just sit up on the counter and watch her work. I loved to watch her cook. I loved to sit and talk to her while she worked. She likes to talk, my grandma, and she'd talk and talk about what she was doing, our family, her life story, her opinions on whatever. It made me feel important. And, when I needed to talk, she would listen, advise, support. Sometimes we would argue. But usually, we would just talk and cook and bake.

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