I promised myself that this morning I would get to work early. No reading down the rabbit hole of blog rolls and writers I find inspirational. No combing through sites that take submissions to determine their style and craft a pitch. No doing last minute chores, no lazily picking my favorite recent snap to throw on Instagram. AND YET here I am, with half a cup of still-hot coffee, and my buddy Milo curled up next to me with a sippy cup of milk. We're sharing a blanket and talking about the last scene of Back to the Future 3, which he has watched twice and daily reenacts by telling any poor stranger about "THE CHOO CHOO THAT GOES DOWN DOWN DOWN AND CRASH THE CAR! AND DOC! AND MARDY!" He acts it out with a big Thomas train and small grey matchbox car. Ben is super proud.
This weekend I'm going to my little sister's baby shower in Florida. It's crazy that she's almost a mom. It's crazy that this weekend is already here. It's represented "later" for a long time. Elliott (who is still a free lap child) is coming with me. Milo (who is no longer a free lap child) is not. It feels weird to go with one and not the other. I have one entire suitcase full of presents and baby things. I need to find a swim shirt and gather up some swim diapers. I'm optimistic and nervous about the plane with Esh. When I planned this, Milo was too little to understand being left out, and Elliott was much more docile, but babies grow.
I have a caterpillar tattoo on my hand from our outing the museum this weekend. It's at the filthy temporary tattoo stage where it's mostly worn off and largely disgusting, but I can't get rid of it. Milo has one, too, and he keeps grabbing my hand and observing the deterioration and saying things like, "I check it. Gone-y?" He then pushes his hand next to mine and we see how different or the same they look. He has told me he knows that when the caterpillar disappears, a butterfly will pop up on our hands. I need to find some butterfly tattoos. Also, Eric Carle, thank you for teaching my 2-year-old science. Caterpillars become butterflies. Babies become boys.
I'm giving myself four more minutes to drink coffee and live online and hum the Peppa Pig theme music. Then Milo and I will go wake up Ben and Elliott, and I'll vacuum the floor before the speech therapist comes for the morning, and then I'll finally get to work.