I'm sitting on the porch, laptop in lap, chilled beverage in arms reach. It's cloudy, a bit unsettled, feels like there's a storm brewin'. Corben is napping next to me on our outdoor couch - it's turned around to face the house, he's on top of one of my oldest and most favourite blankets, with a new summer sheet sewed by Mama covering him from the slightly cool wind. There's a piece of bug netting over top of him, and he looks just about as comfortable as can be.
I could be sweeping the floor. I could be tying up my sweet peas that refuse to grab a hold of the trellis they're right next to. I could be taking the diapers off the line before it starts to rain.
Coulda, shoulda, woulda.
In just a few months, it'll be October. Then November. And then December. It'll be too cold for books and iced drinks on the porch, not to mention porch naps. So for now, it can all wait. The floor isn't going anywhere, and maybe, just maybe the sweet peas will be pushed towards the trellis in the breeze. I'll probably think about the diapers again when I hear the rain start to fall or the rumble of thunder in a few hours, and then those will be taken care of too.
But for now, I sit.
Summer is too short. Life is too short. If you can't make the time to watch a baby sleep for an hour (hopefully more) every once and a while, then what's the point of living in the first place?
About a 1/2 an hour after I closed the computer on this post, Corben woke up. I picked him up and snuggled him, and he fell right back asleep. So I went right back to the little couch he was curled up on, and curled up there myself, with him on my chest and the breeze blowing in our hair. He slept for another hour. And I might have too.