Wishing for a longer weekend

It’s a few minutes past 6PM and here I am mulling the ending of another weekend.  I actually wish I had another day — or better yet, a neverending weekend.  Angel was a revelation once again.  Every day, Alan and I discover more of the little guy in the baby.  His nuances, his quirks, his charm, his moods. 

We went to the mall to accompany his half brother and Lola Celia go shopping in preparation for the next school term.  With a full car, we had to leave th baby basket in the house, and we opted to roll him around the mall in the stroller itself sans the baby basket.  He kept bawling out and Alan and I alternated in carrying him.  I told Alan I think he wasn’t ready to move about facing the crowd.  For all his infant life, he had gotten used to seeing us right in front of him with the rear facing basket atop the stroller.  He was always assured we were there and he didn’t have to contend with the throng of people coming his way as we moved about the mall.

I guess it was a lesson in keeping within our little guy’s world.  Though we his parents are the wiser and more adept ones in terms of protecting him as he goes out into the world, we forgot that our preparedness didn’t mean he was prepared for it all.  The simple act of moving about without having us in his line of sight was enough to drive him to tears.  The only act that reassured him all would be well was to actually hold him close.

I’m counting the hours to his bedtime.  I wish we had tomorrow to play.  Instead I go back to the dog-eat-dog corporate world.  Tomorrow as I step into our building, I have to pray that the boss is in a better mood after having (hopefully) rested during the weekend just passed.  I hope the day will pass fast enough so I can go home to Angel again.

I’m suddenly reminded I have to pump for breastmilk.  Anything for my Angel…

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