Lounging by the fire in jammies on Valentine’s Day morning
Wow. I’ve got a daughter here, in my house. And I’m looking at her sleeping. Wow.
Really poetic, hmm? OK, you try writing after having a baby and all the constricted brain matter, hormonal surges take over.
Oh yes, so it is an adoption, but I still have constricted brain matter and hormonal surges. Although I think it has something to do with sleep deprivation, rather than giving birth. There are wrinkly English peas strewn across the kitchen, mixed with the icky parts of the orange slices she was sucking on and the whites of the hard-boiled egg she won’t eat. You know the kitchen is a mess when even the dog won’t go in and “clean” the floor. But with our social worker coming to examine the household tomorrow morning, my return to work tomorrow afternoon for four meetings in a row, and an early intervention team coming to evaluate Anna-Li on Friday, I really should be using this nap hour to clean the house and take the compost bin out into the driving sleet to the chicken coop. But instead, I’m checking email, looking to see if I’ve forgotten to upload any more pictures, gathering up the paperwork I had to scan yesterday, and emptying the last bits of luggage, to stash the bags away until next week, when we take the wee one down to meet my in-laws in Charlottesville. We’ll have to make it a short visit, as we’ve been able to get on the schedule of Children’s Hospital’s Dr. Lisa Albers, an international adoption medicine specialist, next Friday.
No word from our pediatrician confirming an appointment with an audiologist yet. Hmmm, need to wake the wee one before we find ourselves facing a particularly wakeful werewolf tonight.
What Anna-Li is like at 1am: our werewolf
