I'll Blink Again
Our bed is finally fixed. After a few failed attempts that made me cry and despair and blame Sam entirely (and unfairly), it's fixed. Even though Henrietta has been sick most of the week and Sam got sick this weekend, and I seem to be coming down with it too, last night we pulled the guts out of our four-poster, and dropped a metal bedframe inside (this one--which I can recommend), and it worked like gangbusters. The baby was crying in her crib most of time we worked, since it was clearly bedtime to everyone involved except for her, and there were screws and shards of wood scattered everywhere. Once we finally had it set up, I went and got her, and she clung to me gratefully, resting her head against my shoulder. She was in a little plain white onesie, since it's full-blown summer here now, and her nose was running. I set her down between us and we lay there on either side of the bed like lumps, while she crawled back and forth between us, ricocheting like a pinball. She was so exhausted that she had spilled over into hysterical, so she was laughing as she crawled, and all we had to do was poke her to get her to giggle. To her, to all of us, this was heaven: our little family, all of us spent but laughing, lying together on a bed. I think evenings like that were exactly what I envisioned when I longed for a family. Seems like I blinked in the middle of longing, and now here we are, piled together and in love. I'm sure I'll blink again and she'll be grown.