Seven Months

Punky turned seven months old yesterday.

I'm not sure why things seem so different on this side of a year. I don't know why he seems so big all of a sudden. Maybe it's because he started crawling, sitting up and now pulling up on furniture all within a week. Maybe it's the way his hair is suddenly growing over his ears.

I was nursing him tonight before he went to bed and he fell asleep while eating. I can't tell you the last time that happened. I just let him lay in my lap for awhile, looking at him. His feet were hanging off my lap. For some reason, that really hit me. He's going to be walking and talking soon and if I'm perfectly honest with myself, I feel like I'm missing it.

I'm so glad I have the weekends off to be with him, but I only see him for an hour and a half at night before he goes to bed. Usually in that time, he's cranky because he's tired. Sometimes I don't even really get that. By the time I go to my mom's house to pick him up and get home it's already 6pm at the earliest. Most of my time with him is spent in the car. I've been lucky enough to be there for his firsts...I think. I know my mom wouldn't tell me even if I missed something. She knows how hard it is for me to be away from him as it is.

So I'm torn. I'm torn between knowing that working will enable me to provide things to him that I wouldn't otherwise be able to and knowing that my mom gets to see more him during the week than I do. Whenever I get full days with him and we're sitting in his room playing with maracas, and he suddenly drops them and turns to try and crawl in my lap, I just want to hold him and breathe him in and never let him go. I love those moments, and I hate that I feel like I have to hoard them all at once. It's like I have to fill a quota for the week before I go back to work on Mondays.

I think maybe part of my problem is that I'm not exceptional at anything. Seriously. I'm not a great writer, or singer or poet. I'm not a comedian like my husband. I was never a great student and I can't play an instrument. But this? Being a mom? I'm good at this. I love this. And yes, I'm one of those parents whose child consumes their entire life, taking over all conversation and social networking pages and I'm okay with it. Yes, I'm one of those parents whose child is now part of their identity and I'm okay with it.

I say this is a problem because until now, I haven't been passionate about anything. I haven't felt this need to follow something that pulls me from the inside out. Now that I have, I don't know that I can just ignore it  to continue working at a job where honestly, I'm miserable every.single.day.

I'm really hoping with everything in me that my plans for the coming year pan out. I'm scared terrified of making the wrong move. But I have to do something. And so I wait as patiently as I can possibly manage, for things to unfold in front of me.

2011 has to be my year.