Don't See, Mommy

I'm sitting quietly at the dining room table, having just eaten a wonderfully terrible lunch (wendy's, and a cupcake from the Preschooler's half-birthday). Reading my email, catching up on blogs, allowing myself to get sucked into the time sink that is facebook. You see, the Baby is asleep, and P. is watching Backyardigans in her playroom while doing... something. I don't know what, and I'm really happy about this, this freedom to leave her to her own devices and trust that she won't hurt herself or one of her posessions.

It's been hard-won, this independence. It started with me being exhausted in that special progesterone-induced drowse that only a viable pregnancy can induce. P. would bounce around me trying to get me to entertain her and I would plead "please, just draw for a few minutes while I rest". Desperate not to blame The Baby for my inaction.

It continued with me being exhausted from baby induced sleep-deprivation. Trying to fit in breastfeeding/pumping/eating/resting into my day along with P. entertaining was a herculean feat. P. gradually learned that we would love it, really, if she would just ... figure out something to do. She could turn on her DVD player by herself (I dare you to criticize, you who haven't walked in MY shoes), get her crayons/paper out herself, get her puzzles out herself; as long as she didn't wake the Baby or wake a sleeping Mommy, she was free to roam.

Like right now, she's jumping up and down and dancing with the Backyardigans, quietly, sweetly....

"crack".

"What just happened, P.?"

"Don't see, Mommy!" < sounds of strumming >
Translation: I know I was doing something stupid and I don't want you to come in and be disappointed in me so if you don't see, it never happened.

Oh P, I don't have to see. I know. You were jumping up and down on your < insert breakable instrument here>, and it's cracked.