We're closing in on nine months with these two babies and nearly three years with Maya. Time seems to have evaporated. Weeks and months just fly by without realization. They're both crawling and pulling up. Zoe can stand on her own. We can bathe all three at the same time. It's truly amazing. With Maya I remember feeling that each month was momentous and that the year was this giant accomplishment. This time it feels like I blinked and the year is nearly gone.
Yet each day feels eternal. Seriously, eternal. I lose track of whether it's Monday or next week because all the days are endless.
As I sit here writing the babies are sleeping. I know my time is short. I have chosen, today, to use the time to write. That means that other things have been sacrificed. I have not showered. I am still in pajamas, and the kitchen still needs to be cleaned. I have a stack of papers that need to be sorted (I take after my dad in my paperwork accumulation). The laundry is mostly done, but I have still not unpacked from the trip (I got back on Friday, and today is Wednesday). But, if I don't write now I will not do it today. But I might be able to clean with them around. Showering is trickier. Maybe I'll do that when Mom gets here or when they take the second naps (cross fingers that they are at the same time). Perhaps a better homemaker and mother would have a more streamlined schedule and strict sleeping habits. Perhaps I lack motivation (definitely). There are pros and cons to being laid back or uptight about cleanliness and schedule. Probably there are more pros to being uptight. But I can adapt easily to a changing schedule, have a bunch of people over without stressing about mess, and travel at the drop of a hat. That's more important to me than structure. But, the con is that I must deal with the aftershock...cranky babies, unclean house, dirty body, etc. and so the days merge into one another. Someone is often crying or needing something. There is a vacuum of time and space in our house. I barely make it through the day, it's only 11 am? Yet my bedtime seems to come suddenly, with no time to sit and relax or get the things done I didn't finish during the day. Wait? It's 10 pm already? It's the strangest phenomenon.
Thus, I'm developing this theory about parenthood, particularly stay-at-home parenthood because that is what I know, mostly. Marco and I recently watched the Morgan Freeman narrated program about Black Holes. And while the majority was beyond my comprehension, what I did glean from this program (after pauses where Marco explained again what was being said), is that there is an event horizon surrounding a black hole where spacetime is deformed and anything within that boundary is pulled into the black hole. Someone falling into a black hole would experience a normal passage of time while, to an external observer, it would appear the person would take an infinite time to reach it. Time slows down. And this is due to the intensity of the gravity and velocity. Please don't fault me, all my physicist readers, for my total and complete inability to describe and/or comprehend the details. What I get is that time and space get morphed at the event horizon because of the mass and gravity of the black hole.
My theory is that as our mass as a family has increased, space and time have deformed. Each day appears to go on endlessley, but the weeks fly by in a blink. And anyone in our event horizon is sucked in, crushed to infinite density and their mass is added to our mass. Before that happens, they are torn apart by tidal forces in a process called spaghettification. You don't even know it's happening. You come to visit, and before long you're sitting on the couch feeding a baby or chaging a diaper or you find yourself pushing a stroller to the park. And hours pass without realization. When you leave the outside world has passed 10 years. It's 2020, and Sarah Palin is President. You may as well just stay and help us.
Well, the past 1.5 hours have passed in a blink, and I am still unshowered. And now they are waking up and ready to maul me with slobbery kisses. I'll see you in 20 years. I'll be 85 by then. I think.