In which Elisabeth finds herself with more "free" time than she is used to filling.

Last night was my last night at the NHTI Library. Today, for the first time in 7 years, I only have one job (plus minding a baby full-time). I find myself a little bit lost. What does one do with "free" time? How does one stay focused without the constant threat and stress of missing deadlines, and getting to see your family only 1 1/2 evenings per week? It's a little bit baffling and a whole lot of overwhelming.

This transition to Only One Job (plus baby) is exciting (I'll finally be able to give both my job and my lonely child proper amounts of attention and interaction) and terrifying (oh jiminy cricket, that's 4 nights less a week of adult interaction where I am Elisabeth instead of Mummy, and what does one DO with a child all day when you're not constantly distracted and hoping he can entertain himself for ten more minutes while you frantically finish a press release?*). It comes as a good time, and Calvin seems to have skipped the Toddler stage of childhood and skipped straight to the lesser known Runner stage of childhood. This morning alone there were several terrifying moments where I feared for his safety, the worst being during my morning shower when I heard a loud thump from upstairs, which I immediately assumed was him somehow climbing out of the safety of his playpen and crashing to the floor. I then flew upstairs in a flurry of soapsuds, hoping to catch him before he toddled (read: ran) out of the bedroom and fell down the stairs. (This story concludes with me finding him still safely ensconced in his playpen, methodically flipping through an upside-down board book, and he was very happy to see a silly wet Mummy in the doorway, Mummy let's play now, Mummy, Mummy, MUMMY I DON'T WANT TO BE IN THIS PLAYPEN ANYMORE, MUMMY.) All unknown noises in the house are usually assigned to the cats. Sirius came trotting into the room with a hair tie moments later, begging to play "fetch". I blame him.



Liam will not need knee surgery, we are happy to report. His awful knee pain was fixed nearly immediately by purchasing a new, different pair of work shoes, with cushy padding in all the right places. This was thrilling (hurray, no surgery! no more pain!), and also incredibly frustrating (seriously? all this time and it was that easy a fix?).

In a short week, we shall be celebrating surviving a year as parents (the child survived, and even thrived, as well). In anticipation of our party (seriously, he won't remember the party, we're claiming the party as our own), I have purchased a bubble machine**. I wish I could say that I purchased the bubble machine for my child, that it was because I got light headed from constantly blowing bubbles, but the truth of the matter is that I have had my eye on bubble machines for some time, and only pretend to be a functioning adult. One of the benefits of having children is that people assume the childish amazing things you buy are for your children.

*(The answer to this is apparently finger painting, in case you were wondering.)

**It is shaped like a little round robot and moves around the room on little self-propelled wheels, like a roomba vacuum, spewing bubbles as it goes.