By Heather O.
Today, I did lots with my baby. I cooed at her. I changed her diapers. I put Desitin on her chapped little bum. I sang her a song, and let her look at her new mobile that Grandma bought her.
Paul Reiser discusses this phenomenon in his book _Babyhood_. If I wasn’t so lazy, I’d go and get the book so I could quote it for you, but it’s all the way upstairs, and I’m all the way downstairs, so I’m just gonna wing it instead.
Anyway, I think he calls it baby time, where everything slows down and is measured in microseconds. We are there, people.
But here’s the kicker. If I am in slow motion baby time, then why is it I feel I don’t have time to do anything? I feel like I have only seconds to get showered and dressed, and those dishes, and those dirty clothes? Sheesh, fugettabouddit. My mother, who took pity on me and came to help, worked a miracle with my laundry. However, not understanding the unique organizational design of my closet (oh, it’s unique. So unique, it’s practically a secret. Even I don’t know.) she was forced to just leave clean clothes neatly folded in baskets for me to put away.
Yeah, we’ll just be living out of those baskets for a while, I can tell you right now.
So I have no time for laundry, or dishes, or vacuuming the floor. And yet, time seems to have stretched endlessly before me.
It’s a bizarre sort of time warp. And it confuses me.
Maybe I’m in an alternate universe, where time is different. Maybe time will suddenly speed up and I won’t notice, and I’ll be left behind in some backward state. Maybe “Back To The Future” is really a documentary about our current lives, and we are all time travelling without even knowing it.
Maybe I’m just seriously sleep deprived, and need a nap.
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