Sunday, March 8, 2009
Five years later, the dream has yet to be realized
This picture was when Shep was seven months old. And so stinking adorable it almost makes me cry to look at that picture.
And this one.
And this one.
Oh, he was SO CUTE.
One weekend about this time Mimi offered to take him to her house overnight. All night. Keep him all night long. Overnight.
What, we asked? You mean, go to bed with no thought of being awakened in the middle of the night by little cries? And not watch Shep do his 1am comedy routine on the video monitor? No 6am wakeup call? No amazing amount of absolutely necessary baby gear to pack in a diaper bag for the two hours we would be at church? No worrying about forgetting a bottle? You mean after seven months, we could wake up, drink some coffee, get ourselves dressed and just...leave?
And then, since we only had our own grownup bodies to take care of, could we possibly....oh, could it happen...dare we dream....could we actually be on time to church for the first time in seven months?
Yes ma'am, we told Mimi. He is all yours. I packed up the amazing amount of absolutely necessary baby gear required for an overnight visit, kissed his chubby cheeks, and feeling slightly sad but only slightly and Walker not one bit, handed him over to his adoring grandma.
Sunday morning we awoke all by ourselves after a wonderful sleep. I did not mash any bananas. Just coffee beans. No formula. Just cream. I dressed myself. Walker dressed himself. No one needed my help to do anything.
We sang tunes to each other across the house, "We're gon-na be on time to chur-uch". Mine had a Broadway vibe, Walker inserted beat boxes into his rap, singing "We're gonna be on time to church, yo yo" as he did the PCA gangsta sign. Then early, with moments to spare - I grabbed my purse, just my purse, and we walked out the door, joking about how we felt like we were forgetting something.
On the drive there we discussed the possibility of our pastor having a heart attack when he saw us walk in early to church.
Arrived. Parked. Entered the building lugging not one bit of absolutely necessary baby gear. Beaming from ear to ear, we high-fived each other as we walked into the sanctuary and - stopped. Exchanged very puzzled looks. We watched our fellow believers go forward to partake of...communion? But communion is done at the end of the service - ?
And then it hit us like a grandfather clock.
Happy Daylight Savings, y'all.