Oliver is very seasonal. He kind of looks like a pumpkin no thanks to his jaundice, which has had us going to the hospital lab every morning to get his blood tested. We had to do the same with Iris, so it’s familiar territory, but on the very bright side it’s also been the perfect excuse for a little sunlight therapy.
Yesterday Carl set out the bouncy seat and lawn chair for us, and we basked for a while just Oliver and me. I could get used to the recovery life—a nap every afternoon with Iris, no heavy lifting (and toddlers are heavy), no cleaning, a little cooking just because, games with Iris, snuggles with the little fellow.
Not that it’s not busy with two little people. I did hole up in the bathroom the other day to take a shower and brought my poetry book to read “while the water warmed up”… which ended up being a lot closer to “until the room was too steamy to be comfortable.” Am reading Jane Kenyon, and I just finished the book today. Such good stuff. Nobody can be the Jane Kenyon of New Hampshire life better than the real Kenyon, but it does occur to me that somebody really should be the Jane Kenyon of life with young children. I would read that.
In the meantime, life continues to be good. I’ve been trying to take better care of myself emotionally this time around. I’m not sure how much of that’s really controllable, but I’d like to avoid as much of the baby blues as possible. Soaking up the October sunshine with a snoozing baby and a book of poems isn’t a bad way to start.