Reality vs Ideal

I think this might be true of every first time parent. You believe, while you are pregnant, that you are going to be one type of parent. Then when the baby comes, it all goes out the window.

I wanted to put Walt on a strict schedule. I thought I would immediately show him the ropes by telling him when he would eat and sleep and we'd all be happier for it. Two months later, he is a demand fed baby, and I still get up with him whenever he wakes to eat. The crazy thing is, with a little patience, he is forming his own schedule. And to be honest, I've never been able to keep a schedule myself, so what made me think I could enforce one on someone else? I like that he's a flexible child. Or maybe that's just my wishful thinking. At least he's patient with me.

This week has been filled with family goodness. My cousin got married this past weekend and every day I got to enjoy the company of my extended family. The food was good and the dancing even better. My nephew Christopher is going to be a ladies man, I can tell. He had them all wrapped around his finger on the dance floor, including me. My cousin and her new husband are from NYC (well, he's from there and she lives there now), and they flew back just in time to enjoy the hurricane and lack of power/running water. How's that for a honeymoon? They intended to fly to South Africa immediately following the wedding festivities, so I'm not sure what their plans are now.

We all make plans. Ok, I make plans. Lots of them. I would be lost without my plans and to-do lists, and not everything has the option of trip insurance. But the best part of life can be deviating from said plans. The magical, unexpected moments. Or the mundane, quirky moments that keep you laughing. The trigger moments that kick your butt. The moments of swaying with the vibrations of life.

I haven't gone trick-or-treating in years. Since junior high. I stopped liking Halloween until Dave slowly introduced me to the joy of terrorizing the kids that come to our door asking for candy. When we washed his old Marine work uniform so he could wear it to scare the kiddies this year, shrapnel from when he almost got blown up in Iraq came out of the clothes. He wouldn't be my husband and Walt would never have existed if he hadn't survived that. It made me wonder, who doesn't wash their clothes for almost a decade?

This year my brother and I brought my nephew around my neighborhood dressed as a ghost. Well, the masked bad guy from Scream, but since he's 6 he thought he was just a ghost. I am still frightened by that mask. Luckily I had the capacity to remember my sweet nephew was still under there somewhere. A little boy who starts his sentences in English and finishes them in French. Because where would we be if we didn't throw our expectations out the window mid-sentence?

 

Walt was a pilot but took the nap option when it came time to go out.