The other morning Sprout was hovering by my elbow while I got Button out of his nighttime pajamas and into his daytime pajamas (because, after all, pandemic fashion is all about cozy comfort) and she started planning his birthday party at the end of summer.
“We can invite all of his friends to video face chat!”
I reminded her that he’s not even one year old, so most of his friends are family members, but she was breezed past that.
“We’re going to have to order his presents early so they can get here. Because we can’t go to the store.”
She made all these logistical pronouncements in a matter-of-fact way. She’s not sounding anxious or disappointed at the idea that maybe we wouldn’t be able to have family members over to our house, or get together with people in person for Button’s birthday.
She’s just internalizing and trying out a new sense of normal based on how things are going currently.
She’s had weeks of only seeing cousins, grandparents, her teachers, and some of her friends from school on the other side of a screen. She’s barged in on some of my online classes (as my unofficial TA) and told knock-knock jokes.
She misses people. She misses school. When the sadness comes, it hits in waves: peaking fast, then subsiding.
But there’s a streak of resiliency coming through as she adjusts to new routines.
Can’t have school recess with all her friends? Then every day there needs to be backyard recess with Dad. After dinner must be Family Time, lunch needs to fit a routine, and so on. She has blocks of time that make up the schedule of her day, and she even wants to stick to it on weekends.
Because right now for her, what even are weekends?
It’s not always easy, but I’m glad to see those moments where she’s rolling with the punches and finding her footing.
And I hope, as I have to adapt to the changes still to come, that I can greet the logistics of it with the same straightforward, beginner’s mind that she’s started to use.
My son is teething hard. I had a dream that he suddenly went from no teeth to eight teeth overnight, and some days it seems like he’s determined to make that a reality.
It’s a hard process. Each tooth needs to erupt from the gums, which takes a lot of time, force, and pain.
And when it’s all done, and they get those baby teeth in, that’s not the end of the story. There’s a second draft of that mouthful of teeth, waiting on deck.
If you’ve never seen an image of a child’s skull with both sets of teeth inside, it’s… something else.
I’ve been focused on new projects lately. First drafts and new collaborations. Ideas pushing hard, trying to break through and emerge.
And there are times when it feels painful. Like things aren’t moving fast enough, and you just wish you could force things along faster, (like how I imagine Button feels when he’s gnawing on a teether).
Or when you know that you need to choose to put your butt in the seat and get some ideas out onto the page, but you have to choose that over other things that might also be be fun or important.
But I have to remind myself that the work can continue, and the pages will come, and then… well that’s when it’s time for the next draft.
Which brings me back to that baby skull full of teeth.
Because getting the idea out into the world isn’t the final act. Those pages and ideas fall out and get cast off to make way for bigger, stronger ideas.
But trust that even before that first idea has broken through, the full shape of what’s to come is there, in your head. And it just takes time, and force, and pain.