Before having children, spontaneity was something that Tim and I innocently, unknowingly squandered.
There were times when we would step out on a Sunday morning to enjoy, even savor cups of coffee. Sometimes even while enjoying, even savoring a book or newspaper. Like this.
There were times when we stop to get a bottle of wine on our way home from work and then spend the night getting tipsy and taking silly pictures of ourselves. Like this.
There were evenings where we could walk around the corner to our favorite restaurant without having to worry about coordinating childcare or a diaper bag or just enough snacks to hold our hungry child over until the meal arrived.
There were afternoons where we could have sex without worrying about waking up a baby or (worry of all worries) looking up to find a small child staring at us in confusion.
There were rock shows and neighborhood bars and mindless wanderings.
There were whims and fancies and last-minutes and unplanneds.
And then there were three.
And spontaneity seemed to happen to us.
Not whims or fancies or last-minutes. (We were new–blissfully new–parents, and venturing outside of the home took at least one hour’s worth of planning and preparation.)
But there were unplanneds.
An unplanned wake-up call at 3 a.m. And then another at 4 a.m. And at 5:30.
An unplanned tooth arriving, just as we had gotten into a good sleeping rhythm.
An unplanned illness, an unplanned boo-boo, an unplanned diaper explosion.
An unplanned and profound joy as we witnessed first smiles, first hugs, first wonders at the world.
And then we planned.
And then there were four.
And spontaneity continued to find us–we did not usually find it.
Spontaneous labor, spontaneous feeding cues, spontaneous needs and wants and loves.
But still relatively (no, exceedingly) few whims and fancies and last-minutes.
Tim arrived home from work early, unexpectedly.
We had just enough time to dream up a trip to the science museum, to scramble to assemble our membership passes and shoes and snacks, to whisk the kids (and their peanut-butter sandwich halves) into their car seats, and to race off to the museum with just one hour before closing time.
We had just enough time to find spontaneity for ourselves for a change.
And like those long lost days of whims and fancies and last-minutes and Sunday morning savorings and evening wanderings, this newfound spontaneity was just as lovely, just as rejuvenating, and just as fun(ny).
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