The weather was crisp; it had been a lovely fall in London, and we were both happy to be out of the house. Bundled against the cold, we had all the forms and documents with us and were headed to the US Embassy to apply for W’s passport. It felt novel to be walking together downtown, turning off the busy Oxford Street to a quieter road.
My husband took my hand. “Let’s just take a moment to recognize how far we’ve come.”
I squeezed his hand. “It’s true.” A month ago I never would have dreamed we could be out and about downtown. Then, I had still been worried about feeding in public: would I get to my destination in time? was I wearing something accessible and acceptable? what would I do if he cried where I couldn’t feed him? Now, here we were walking down the street, W in the sling on my husband while I carried the diaper bag, packed and organized.
Hours later, after the embassy, lunch out, and even some shopping on Oxford Street, we made our weary way home. We opened our front door and walked in to find lights left on, a tornado of baby blankets, clothes, and toys littered through the hall, and a massive pile of dishes by the sink. That peaceful feeling our moment in the street had given me was replaced with a mild panic that I’d always be this disorganized.
Still, I was glad my husband had taken a moment to acknowledge how far we’d come because otherwise that small accomplishment would have slipped away unnoticed; getting out of the house together and on time could be easily missed when placed next to other demands on our day. I made a mental note to keep working on finding a balance and recognizing the things that did get done instead of only the things that didn’t.
From December 2016