Random

While I made a great deal of progress on Lilly's raspberry (the color I find most accurate) blanket in the NICU, I've recently been hard-pressed to find time when my hands aren't engaged in some other (more demanding) task. I've found that one trip across the length of the blanket takes me 20-30 minutes. Sadly, as a friend pointed out, things would be moving a lot quicker if I didn't stitch so tightly. I promise little Lilly, it IS coming!

I'm not sure what stitch, pattern or crochet hook I'm using, but as a beginner myself, I highly recommend crocheting for anyone looking to start a simple, convenient and productive hobby.

I fear I have a case of post-nesting. Although we no longer await the arrival of the babies, I find myself fluttering around the house in between feedings, diaper changing, etc. arranging and re-arranging silly things like blankets, candles, cups and clothes. I believe that if the things around me are in a state of order and simplicity, than my mind can be free to focus on the most important of tasks.

The unfortunate side of it all is that my tireless commitment for a clean house doesn't fit with a lifestyle of caring for two small humans whose (seemingly) chief desire is to undo all my doings. How sad. There are few things more calming than empty countertops and vacuumed floors.

We have a visit tomorrow from a home-care nurse. She will evaluate the progress of the twins and no doubt assess our mental, emotional and environmental capabilities. (I wonder if she'll notices the soft scent of lavender from a recently relocated candle?) While I know that in general such assessments are a "good" idea, I'm not sure how I feel about a stranger entering out little world and leaving us with personal (not professional) advice.

I have discovered that I have an aversion to advice (whether sound or irrelevant) when it comes from someone I'm not close to and/or is unsolicited. Becoming a mother has provided many an opportunity for those who've gone before to share their pearls of wisdom; some truly appreciated and others unrequested and confusing. Although I strive to be a person of few and chosen words, I am susceptible to my own over-eagerness and have at times spouted off my thoughts, regretting it immediately. Why are we victims to our blindness? Why is it that at times a trait I find uncomfortable is often a trait I secretly (or not so secretly) exhibit?

I hear a squeaky baby in the background signaling my moments of calm are coming to a close.

There are dirty dishes in the sink, laundry in the basket, crumbs on the floor, and toothpaste globs in the sink.

My life is -so- good.