Ticking away the moments

For a very long time I did not sleep. At least not more than fifteen minutes at a time. Not for six months at least. My baby did not seem to sleep at all. Humid August in Omaha. Dehumidifier in the basement doing its best to keep mildew off the concrete block walls. Hormone roller coaster. Put on a warm sweatsuit. Sweat. Nurse. Rip off the fleece. Make valiant efforts to burp the uncomfortable little pink person we'd brought home from the hospital. Zinc oxide and diaper pail, sweat and shiver, cuddle and panic.

The Miracle of Motherhood. Geez. So overwhelming and exhausting. No one to wrap me in a cocoon, rock me and my son, and tell me it would be okay; I would emerge as a beautiful butterfly mother. My mom helping ever so much, but still not enough.

Writing thank-you notes with lovely cursive during Jeff's five-minute naps. Addressing. Adding a stamp. Going out to the mailbox. Paralyzed. Did I write the note in English? Did I write it in gibberish? So tired. So hot. So cold. So unsure. So in love with my crying pink son. So wishing I could go back to the hospital where someone would make sure I was drinking prune juice and staying sane.

We put a big old wind-up alarm clock in the bassinet to help our son sleep a tiny bit longer. I would flop myself on the carpet in the nearest sunbeam. Ticking against the colic.

At work helping the preschoolers settle down for their naps I pat their backs. The ones I pat with my left hand go to sleep faster than the children on my right. It's my ticking Timex, I guess.
When I am in charge of the world, every hospital and rehab facility will have a glow-in-the-dark wall clock, a digtal alarm clock, or an Indiglo wristwatch for the patient. The patients need to know what time it is to get their bearings.

Dave Brubeck's "Adventures in Time".
Time.

Time is...

Adventures in time...



Time is too slow for those who wait.
Time is too swift for those who fear.
Time is too long for those who grieve.
Time is too short for those who laugh.
But for those who love,
but for those who really love, time is eternity.

David Laflamme, It's A Beautiful Day, 1969.

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way. ...


Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over, Thought I'd something more to say.

Time (Mason, Waters, Wright, Gilmour) Pink Floyd lyrics.