August Days

We all could use a bath. I wonder what would happen if I plunked the three of us in one bubble bath. I picture Haven baptizing Maiya in bubbles. I picture shaving my legs while balancing an infant. I am confident that a bath is more likely to result in injury than in cleanliness. I decide to do it the old fashioned way, which is, not at all.

When Maiya pulls away, I lift her, pat her back for what feels like eternity, until she produces a ripe burp. Later, Haven burps in my face as I sing to him at nap time and I almost vomit. Maiya's burps however, still the result of nothing but breast milk, are almost sweet. She falls asleep with her ear pressed against my chest and my heart beat lulls her deeper into dreamland. Moments later, I lift us from the couch and Haven follows from his perch next to me. I put Maiya in her bed cozied by a pillow at her back. I look at Haven, who has already moved on to explore the one place in the kitchen where he can get to some pots. With a deep breath, I whisper a thankful prayer that I did not crumble into tears an hour previous when Haven was inconsolably whining and Maiya was happy with nothing less than my holding her.

Our house is unusually quiet, as our month-long string of visitors has just ended. I decide that after few days without company we will find the rhythm of a routine again. Actually, it may take weeks. The realization hits me as I finish the dishes I have already started three times this morning. I turn off the faucet to see pans strewn through the living room and the silence is interrupted by the crashing of two lids, a toddler symphony. I wonder if there is a childproof lock for the drawer beneath the oven.

We will take small steps these next few weeks. Cleaning the dishes might be a victory some days, and baths a revolution.