Elie: “Okay, so I think I’ll work on feeding and getting him to sleep if you want to take your choice time until 5pm.”

Wha….?  Choice time?  Yep.  Choice time.

Elie and I have been dancing around the fairness issue of how much time River takes.  So far she has been putting in the majority. Even though I put in a good deal of time in myself, I argue that she’s got the boobs and the boy wants the boobs.

Apparently there are some holes in my argument as we have decided that somewhere in the day we should each get four hours of choice time. (I know, I said it again, but I’m still kind of in disbelief that those words have re-entered my vocabulary….it’s like tonguing over a recently lost tooth).

The upside is that we’ll both be getting some more intentional time to refresh ourselves and that’s good for everyone. And even with the preschool-esque vibe of such slotted free time the wording really does apply a bit of pressure to my decisions. No longer can an afternoon just disappear thoughtlessly. When given free reign, I must think hard. Play guitar or try to write a poem? Read a book or mess around on facebook? Take a nap or go for a paddle?

Some activities obviously sound cooler and more worthwhile, but on a gray day like today, all I wanted to do was sit around. It’s strange how days have been slipping in and out of each other like little Russian dolls. Little replicas of each other, some holding more, some less. The days are still lovely and full of surprise, but the lines blur more and more.

I suppose we’re still in the early days of this rite of passage and everyone who has children seems to know it. They see us on the street, smile and ask, “how old?” “Five weeks,” we respond cheerfully. “Oh sure,” they say with a confidence I can’t help but trust. “Don’t worry,” they say, “it just gets better.”