Bothered by Family

Finally two days off, in a row. Forty-eight hours to get caught up with Zoom calls, writing, laundry, grocery shopping, maybe a TV program, find something in the shed, rehang the picture that keeps falling down, perhaps go for a run, pick up the handicraft I put down and haven’t picked back up for a month.

I checked in with my daughter after breakfast—we live across the back deck from each other. As soon as I slid open the glass door into her kitchen she handed me the baby. Can you hold Remy while I drive Jack to nursery school? Sure. Later, again, can you hold him while I put in a load of laundry. Okay. He has a Bumbo, an activity saucer, and a rocking sling back chair that also plays lullabies, but, hey, he’s cute in his little T-shirt that says I’m New Here. Or the one that says Hello World! Or his Dismantle the Patriarchy onesie. I can’t help but hold him.

If I’m home all day long I get pinged to come over for this or that. Sometimes it’s did you eat dinner, do you want to eat with us, or the shower is free or your mail is on the microwave. It is the hundreds of normal interactions we have every day. Caring for each other.

Otherwise, called interruptions.

When I think back to the pandemic, to pre-pandemic, when I was living as an empty nester (albeit in community) I rarely was interrupted. My phone never rang. Most calls went to spam, because they were, I could go all day sticking to a schedule and never have a conversation with another, It was a little sad and lonely. My thoughts were often elsewhere—such as wondering what my daughter was doing far off in Oregon while pregnant with my first grandchild.

It felt like I was living a half-life.

Flip to now, my days off, packed with shuttling Jack to the library or getting him out of the house while my daughter makes dinner—I take him to Meijers to ride Sandy the mechanical pony for a penny—or host him at my Tiny House, plying him with graham crackers, and, of course, holding the cute baby (even though he likes to spit up on my suede slippers).

At night before bed when I sit down with my daily to write out to-dos for the next day, I’m struck by how little I’ve gotten done and how tired I am, but also fulfilled. I’ve done a lot of baby holding.