Recycled Peas
Friday, February 3rd, 2006Before Sarah had Emma (yes I was involved, but let’s be honest - she did all the work), I didn’t understand all that sentimental stuff parents said about their kids. I didn’t understand why the guy that worked for me would bring in a single hard boiled egg each day, rather than spend the money on a lunch. I didn’t understand how getting up at 3am to clean up the stew-like diaper could be anything less than demoralizing. I didn’t understand why people were so ga-ga over babies.
Yesterday, when I walked in the door from work, Emma screamed so loud my dog’s tail dropped and her bug-like eyeballs crossed. Emma started wriggling her legs stared at me, waiting for me to pick her up. After dropping my jacket and work garb, I reached down and grabbed her. She wouldn’t let me put her down for a while.
That moment reminded me how much different life is now. How much better it is. And I haven’t been demoralized by recycled peas a single time in the past 10 months and 15 days.