I’ve been living in the baby bubble for almost three weeks now, this alternate universe where the world revolves around a tiny bundle of eat, cry, cuddle, and sleep. We snatch meals when we can, grab showers between feedings, and do laundry a lot. I’ve been wearing the same easy clothes for days – jeans and sweats which are very forgiving when it comes to spit-up and lint from baby blankets. I run a brush through my hair, and wash it every two or three days (which would only be possible in a climate as dry as it is here in Dallas). Though I brought my makeup bag with me, I never removed it from the suitcase.
It’s easy to forget that December is here and there are holiday plans swirling in the air, necessitating things like shopping and socializing. But at the end of next week, I’ll be going back to Michigan, re-entering normality’s orbit, and I’m a teensy bit nervous about it. Being in this insular world of life with newborn is safe and cozy. Our only objective is to make sure the baby is fed, clean, happy, and adored.
At least in comparison to life at home where the demands of the normal universe can be so intrusive. There are bills to pay, houses to clean, appointments to keep. Friends wills be calling, as will the thousand and one responsibilities that await me in that other life I’ve been living for the past 55 years, the one I call “real.” Here, no one expects me to do anything but grandmothering and it’s a nice relief to have only one job to do, and a completely satisfying one at that.
So next week I’ll be preparing myself (at least mentally) for re-entry into life outside the baby bubble. I expect it might take a little time to decompress, to absorb all the changes that have occurred in my life and heart during the preceding 30 days.
But I’m sure real life will wait for me.
It always does.