The children are playing quietly, so I am enjoying a stolen break, catching up on my internet world. As mamas of littles know, small children play by the “You move, you lose it!” rule, so I hadn’t moved. Finally, I have to admit that I need to pee more than I need quiet or the internet.
Predictably, as soon as I stand up, the baby notices his deep and desperate need for his momma. I swing him up to my hip, where he rides like an old hand in the saddle, and continue on my way to the bathroom.
I find there that the four-year old, scared of the noise, has left a deposit that still needs flushing. With the sound of running water, I am suddenly aware that I have sat too long, that the baby continues to gain weight, that his leg against my abdomen is pressing harder than I have ever noticed before, and that gravity is still fully in effect.
Now I am frantically looking for a spot to drop the baby where he can’t knock himself out if he throws himself backward in baby anger, and simultaneously trying to pull my jeans open and down without damaging anything or uncrossing my legs too early.
A snippet of a song comes to my head, “Just do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight!”
It’s Friday night, and getting late.