All butterflies start out as tiny round fat caterpillars, eating and chomping their way through the difficulties of early life. They then enter stasis, and somehow, through a science-y process, emerge as sweet innocent, quite energetic, super caterpillars with wings and a preference for all things sweet.
It was a surprising snowfall. A soft quiet fell across Washington as the snow fell early in the morning. Breezy woke up slowly, looking up at the ceiling in the dark. She said a soft morning prayer then stretched, rolling over to a pair of watchful eyes staring back at her. Breezy peeled off a loud startled laugh, and Rai grinned then laughed forcefully, her two front teeth glinting. “Rai what are you doing up you silly goose?” Rai smiled widely, “Grah da da.” Breezy shook her head and grabbed Rai, lifting her up into the air and swinging her around, using the momentum to hoist them both out of bed. She hitched Rai up onto her hip and strolled out to the living room. “The house is a mess Rai. What happened?” She gingerly stepped over a pile of laundry, sidestepped the avalanche of books, circled Suzie, and opened the drapes.
“What does it say?” Breezy squinted down at the Times New Roman text and frowned. “It says not to let them sleep on their stomachs because of SIDS.” She frowned looking down at Rai, sleeping sweetly on her stomach. Aspen cocked his head to the side, his pose for deep thinking. “Should I turn her over?” Breezy felt panic rise in her chest, “NO, no…um I’ll watch her,” she squeaked, lying down next to the cooing sleeper. It took Breezy about five and a half minutes to neglect her baby watching duties and fall asleep. Aspen glanced over, grinned, and watched over both of them as they slept.
It was a grey rainy morning, pretty typical of western Washington. The two clocks in Breezy’s house were out of sync, clicking a sort of sad song: click-click click-click. Breezy sighed and slumped down into her brown microfiber couch, glancing briefly at the baby moniter. Rai’s grey and white profile slept peacefully.
Breezy knew a thing or two about kids: While growing up, she had watched her mom seamlessly juggle five little ones in home child care. I use the word juggle because ‘watch’ gives the impression that a person can sit back and relax while watching kids run around similar to watching a beloved rerun of a humorous sitcom. ‘Babysit’ gives the impression of a sitting while watching kids run around: Both are impossible and erroneous. But I digress.
- Managed to climb up and stand on the rocking chair
- Said “banana”
- Got a raspberry stuck in the foot of her pajamas staining her foot red (didn’t even come off in the bath)
- Found a packet of jam from some alternate dimension and squirted the contents around the room
It isn’t even 10 in the morning yet…
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she muttered for the hundredth time that morning. “I’ve just got to jump in and do it. No one will probably read it anyway. Alright? Ok? Wait now what do I write.” She stared at her computer with a mixture of horror and stubborn pride. She had been thinking of starting a blog for ages, years.
Breezy opens her eyes groggily, the room awash in darkness. Rai is still asleep beside her, one arm reaching out towards the wall, and one leg aggressively thrust over the covers. Rai seems to be immune to any sort of cold draft or impulse to stay warm in an otherwise cold environment, much to her mother’s nagging worry. She grabs her phone and looks at the time then sets it back down, covers Rai, rolls over to her side, grabbing her phone again and begins to check Facebook, Pinterest, Email, and Instagram. She can hear her husband out in the living room rustling around, packing lunch. She very carefully sits up, tucks Rai in (again), and slogs out to the living room, bringing her phone with her. On goes the baby monitor, on goes the cell phone. She sits on the couch, head curved in an awkward angle, and stays on her phone until Rai wakes up. She then continues to keep it on her at all times, as if the missing of a text or Facebook post renders her a negligent human being. She checks it constantly, the machine making soft enticing dings every few hours.