Letting go
Every 10 days or so, my cousin, who has a baby just a little older than Noah, invites me over to her house. We drink tea, talk about "new mom" stuff and watch our growing babes admire each other. It's always an enjoyable time, and a breath of fresh air when any other moms I am friends with live so far away from me.
The only catch is, she lives on the other side of the bridge, and I don't drive. I really should have my license; it's actually ridiculous that I don't. I intend to, soon, but it hasn't happened.
So every time I want to go over there, my mom ends up driving me.
I'm always embarrassed, humbled and worried I don't express just how grateful I am when she takes me out.
Anyway, recently my dear mama was visiting my sister in Ontario. My cousin invited me over, and I had to sheepishly decline, because there was no way I was braving the buses during that bitter snap we were having.
My cousin wrote me back asking if I would be willing to just host it at our place. She knows I am terribly insecure about my lack of order in my home, and said something along the lines of "messes are just a testament to how much attention you put into your baby instead."
Even though I was buoyed by such a comment, my initial reaction was "no, absolutely not." I am just too nervous about my untidiness.
Patrick pointed out then that the only people we have had over besides our immediate families are the Wee Irish Lass and her husband and Madam Librarian and her husband. Bless their hearts, they actually said, "We want to be those friends that you don't need to worry about cleaning for when we come." Oh, sigh. Love.
But my cousin, even though she is family, would make me nervous to have over (or so I thought). She always seems to have an immaculate home. She always has the doors to every room open and each of them look freshly swept, mopped, aired-out and shiny. Given that she has an incredibly active 11-month old, I am mystified by this.
So I gritted my teeth at the idea of having her come over. Yet I wanted the company. Needed it, really. I agreed.
Then the day before, I had a hissy fit. I wanted desperately to vacuum, to make things look lovely, to even have something tasty baked, but Noah needed to be held. Carried. Baby-worn. And baby, I was worn. Out, that is. How would I get things ready?
Somehow my mother-in-law knew, and she called me. When I told her about having company, she offered to come over that night and help me get ready! How lucky am I?
She was quite helpful, mostly in helping me realize two things:
1) I am not that messy, really
and
2) One shouldn't feel too self-conscious about these things in front of close friends and family.
We ended up having a lovely visit!
The only catch is, she lives on the other side of the bridge, and I don't drive. I really should have my license; it's actually ridiculous that I don't. I intend to, soon, but it hasn't happened.
So every time I want to go over there, my mom ends up driving me.
I'm always embarrassed, humbled and worried I don't express just how grateful I am when she takes me out.
Anyway, recently my dear mama was visiting my sister in Ontario. My cousin invited me over, and I had to sheepishly decline, because there was no way I was braving the buses during that bitter snap we were having.
My cousin wrote me back asking if I would be willing to just host it at our place. She knows I am terribly insecure about my lack of order in my home, and said something along the lines of "messes are just a testament to how much attention you put into your baby instead."
Even though I was buoyed by such a comment, my initial reaction was "no, absolutely not." I am just too nervous about my untidiness.
Patrick pointed out then that the only people we have had over besides our immediate families are the Wee Irish Lass and her husband and Madam Librarian and her husband. Bless their hearts, they actually said, "We want to be those friends that you don't need to worry about cleaning for when we come." Oh, sigh. Love.
But my cousin, even though she is family, would make me nervous to have over (or so I thought). She always seems to have an immaculate home. She always has the doors to every room open and each of them look freshly swept, mopped, aired-out and shiny. Given that she has an incredibly active 11-month old, I am mystified by this.
So I gritted my teeth at the idea of having her come over. Yet I wanted the company. Needed it, really. I agreed.
Then the day before, I had a hissy fit. I wanted desperately to vacuum, to make things look lovely, to even have something tasty baked, but Noah needed to be held. Carried. Baby-worn. And baby, I was worn. Out, that is. How would I get things ready?
Somehow my mother-in-law knew, and she called me. When I told her about having company, she offered to come over that night and help me get ready! How lucky am I?
She was quite helpful, mostly in helping me realize two things:
1) I am not that messy, really
and
2) One shouldn't feel too self-conscious about these things in front of close friends and family.
We ended up having a lovely visit!
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