Wednesday, January 16

BEAUTIFUL CACOPHONY

 

cacophony: n. a harsh, discordant mixture of sounds.


I picked Sol up yesterday after work, then went grocery shopping {for cucumbers, limes, and avocados, specifically}.  We earned the attention of each and every Meijer shopper in the produce section as Sol belted out her opinions on life.  I mean, this girl has pipes.  She was jabbering and laughing and shrieking and blabbing away to anyone who walked by {I assume she was composing some fantastic tale about the adventures of an 11-month-old vegetarian chica with a rattail and a potbelly, who had perhaps befriended a large tomato named Tom}.  People were smiling and chuckling as they walked by, and it took every microgram of self-control I had not to whip out my phone and capture it all on video {oh, and I probably would have, if I had only known how to operate this %^&* Blackberry}. 

We got home around 7ish, then I sat her in her high chair and sprinkled out some snacks to tide her over while I lugged in every last heavy bag from my car {this is a common practice in our home}.  I carried in my laptop bag, diaper bag, a crate of Clementines, and 4 bags of groceries while Sol munched away on her churro-flavored puffs.

My house was a disaster area.  Toys and shoes were strewn about the living room and tucked back into every corner {I still can't determine how all these itsy-bitsy shoes wind up in the entertainment center, behind the DVD player}.   I was trying to organize toys; trying to return clean dishes to their rightful location; trying to wash some dirty dishes; trying to round up the empty baby food jars and put them in a bag for later use; trying to figure out how to answer my new &*^% phone; trying to talk to my dad on speakerphone while Sol is shrieking demands for more food, for different food, for water, for milk; trying to hang my coat up; trying to put away my newly-purchased produce; trying to catch 3 pounds of apples that fell out of the bag and are now rolling down the basement steps.

Then all of a sudden, it was bathtime.  So I cleaned that little gal up, spit-spot, and put her to bed.  Which is an insanely easy task: give her a bottle, then pop a pacifier in that chit-chatty mouth of hers, tuck her in next to her silky pink bunny, close the door.  And that kid is OUT.

Before I knew it, the clock had struck 9 and this mama still hadn't had a chance to eat.  So I whipped up some dinner (which included a fabulous raw vegan concoction using the aforementioned produce) and finally got to sit down and breathe. 

Oh, life is not easy.  Life is noisy and chaotic and here and there and up and down and in and out.  Life is a baby shrieking nonsense throughout the produce section of the grocery store.  Life is apples rolling down the basement steps.  Life is hungry and sleepless and tiring.  And life is just going by too quickly.  I can see the noisy days getting shorter and shorter with each passing week.  And I can see my daughter, in all her glorious noisy chaos, growing longer and leaner every day {*snifflesniffle*}.  I can see her amazingly chubby cheeks getting a teensy bit smaller {yes, it's true}.  I can see her clapping on command.  I can see her understanding my words and making up her own language that will eventually morph into comprehensible English.  I can see her pointing at things that grab her attention.  I can see her amazement at the world around her.  I can see the curiosity in her eyes as we're reading a book, when she looks at the book, then she looks at me and stares for just a few seconds like she's reeeally trying to understand the correlation between this colorful package of bound paper and the sounds that are coming out of my mouth.  I can see her sleepy little eyes, barely open, straining to see me through the shadowed stillness as I walk into her nursery each morning.  And I can see her pure and honest love for me when she tugs on my pant leg as I'm in the kitchen, begging to be picked up and snuggled safely in my arms.

Life is confusing and hurried.  Life doesn't always make sense.  But what an overwhelmingly beautiful cacophony my life has become.  Noisy and chaotic, off-key and abundant in all the wrong notes, it's just right.

the composers of a beautiful cacophony

1 comment:

  1. I can hear it and it IS beautiful, Lanie Lynne! lymtwcs....mom

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