Balance

When I wake up–ever–I have no balance. The earliness of the hour and the abruptness of the awakening each serve to worsen the matter. These two factors often concur. Abruptness itself often also concurs with the need to complete an ineffably urgent task. Like running through the basement, up the stairs (off each of which my heels hang, and which ascend through a narrow hall that abruptly turns halfway to grade level), around another corner, up two additional stairs, through the kitchen, into one side of the dining room and out through an adjacent side, through the living room at a slant, into one side of a small tiled area and out through an adjacent side, into a child’s room to quickly locate a pacifier and return it from an unreachable distance of about three inches. Throughout the journey I usually ram my foot into all manner of objects that have not been picked up, left my by children or my wife (who has two habits that contribute to this unfortunate state of affairs, one involving the reckless abandonment of objects in the path along which sane pedestrians travel through the house, the other involving the deliberate placement of objects in the same), slam myself into one or more walls in a manner that elicits the image of a half-living fish being slammed down on a counter (but vertical), and/or simply find myself abruptly brought to my knees or my face on the stairs, tiles, laminate, or carpet for no material reason.

This morning after one such journey I found my foster daughter chirping pleasantly in her crib. I immediately turned around and left to make her a bottle when she came unglued about my clearly soulless behavior. And when I say she came unglued I mean that she emitted sounds I would imagine Mephistopheles to make while passing a fully grown billy goat like it’s a gallstone. I picked her up and took her with me to make the bottle, made it, stuck it in her mouth, and abandoned her again, this time with the food. I went back to bed.

Just as my eyelids were closing and my mind wandering off, she began chirping again. Exasperatingly adorably. I went up, grabbed her, and brought her down with me to visit her foster mamma. She was quite happy and adorable. And she snuggled. She eventually fell back to sleep next to me, and I eventually fell back to sleep as well. I slept until the ineffably glorious and Christmasly miraculous hour of 9:00 AM PST. So it all balances out.

Also, this morning she said “Mamma”, although managing to do so required her assumption of a countenance not unlike Doc Brown’s in BTTF:

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