let lemons be angry

The frequent excuses i use (on myself) that have become lies: I'm sick. There's something on my mind. Something happened in my life. Longing for the day when i won't have to use lies-excuses anymore, when it will be something of a joy.

My day started when i rushed off to be Nanny for the day, helping with Nat, Elliot, pram and bags alternatively. Imagine. One day i'll need a nanny too. I won't be able to skip into shops to try on clothes, i won't be able to dawdle among earrings and shoes, i won't be able to drift as I love to do from place to place and back again. I'll be constantly entertaining, cajoling and soothing my little child. Figuring out what he wants, negotiating with him so no scene is made, having my arms full of him, cropping my schedule according to his naptimes and moods. Baby-talking to him. Hanging my shopping bags on the hooks that come with strollers. Avoiding places with stairs, taking lifts instead of escalators. Having to move chairs out of the way in cafes, and saying "excuse me" when people don't see The Stroller coming. No spontaneous window shopping, no swinging of arms by my side. What a prospect. Then there are the warm arms squeezing my elbows for comfort, and a warm head and body against me, and a smiley "carry me?", and i can see why mothers don't look back.

I guess DW people will always be DW. They'll always have that magic ability to churn deep waves. They don't even have to do anything. Just exist, just pass by, play the least significant part in my life, play no part at all (but please play a part). They'll still be DW.