Home Alone

I am home. My little girl is not. This is the first time I have experienced such a situation. In the six weeks since Kate was born, I have left her at home with Matt a couple times while I've run an errand or two, but she's always here when I return. Today, I went to the spa, enjoying the package my colleagues gave me as a baby gift--massage, facial, lunch, and pedicure. It was lovely!

Matt decided to take Kate with him to Starbucks for the afternoon to work on the sermon. It's the first time Matt has taken her anywhere by himself. He was excited, and I am excited for him. It's fun to watch strangers stare, ooh, and ahh at your baby, and it's a great accomplishment to get one's self out the door with baby, diaper bag, and computer bag. (Add a purse and breast pump to that if you're really daring.) I thought they would be back by the time I was, but they are not.

So here I am in our kitchen, wiggling my freshly-painted toes in their disposable flip-flops under the table while pumping my breasts, which thankfully did not leak all over my spa robe as I feared they would.

It is very quiet. No grunts or whimpers coming through the baby monitor. No random internet videos projecting the sounds of Will Ferrell or Peter Griffin from Matt's office. Just the rhythmic sound of the Medela Pump in Style on the table next to me, saying "imitate, imitate, imitate" or "lactate, lactate, lactate" or "weloveKate, weloveKate, weloveKate." (It's a strange noise that can sound like just about anything ending in "-ate.")

It's a small taste of the solitude I left Matt in last week. People kept asking him, "Are you enjoying your uninterrupted sleep?" "Screw sleep!" he would respond (whether out loud or in his head probably depending on the person doing the asking) "I miss my wife and daughter!"

The day may come when we crave moments like this, but for the time being...
Hallelujah! I hear the garage door!