Ages ago when I was a wage slave in a beautiful little glass bubble, I found a Dress. It was perfect. Princess seamed, sleeveless, in a dark purple patterned with flowers only a shade lighter than the background. It fit me like a glove. Hugged my waist and curves with just enough tension to the fabric to make me feel like a movie star. Best of all it was on sale, clearanced all the way down to ten dollars. I’m never giving this dress up. It was one of the last things I had to put away when I was pregnant, and one of the first things back out of the closet when I stopped pumping and let the battle of the milk supply go.

Right now I’m sitting here wishing that I could do something productive again, rather than just baby wrangling and scrimping pennies. Story of my life. It’s become a sad little refrain in my blog over the past couple of weeks and I promised that I was going to stop doing that. So let’s focus instead on what I can do.

I can keep painting those little glass jars. I can dream of new things to do to the lids so that they’re pretty and shiny and cute. I can keep knitting little blankies for the NICU preemies. And I can nurture my daughter. That’s pretty damn productive. In fact, one could make the argument that it’s what Motherhood is all about. There’s nothing better in the world than being able to raise a child. Except maybe, raising a child that you and your partner created out of love. A child with your eyes and his smile. That’s just about perfect.