ready, set…go!

This morning I woke to the sound of bagpipes.

Which jolted me because, well, bagpipes are kind of startling in the first place and also because that is the ringtone for Mark’s cell phone.  Which meant that he was not in the house…which meant that either he left Corrigan wandering the entire house, alone, while I slept ( I had heard the both of them up earlier and rolled back over for a few more minutes rest)…or *gasp* he actually left the house with the toddler. Alone.

The best part, after returning the missed call, was that while they had left the house, they had not yet left the driveway. ha.  He got Corrigan all buckled in and realized that he did not have any formula or diapers and that if he tried to bring Cor back inside there was going to be hell to pay.

So much for letting me get some sleep, eh?  I didn’t mind though. I was thrilled that he actually took the initiative to get the baby up, change and dress him, attempt the application of shoes to Corrigan’s squirming feet and was willing to leave the premises to help me out.  The only other time that Mark had ever left the driveway with Corrigan was two months ago, to drive 4 miles down the road to get Connor from a sleepover and drove right back home.

*looks at watch*

It has been nearly two hours.

I am totally not nervous.

:::chews fingernails::::

What is this lack of noise that I am experiencing? Like the sound of one hand clapping…

They will be fine, right?

Feel free to lie to me.


While I am staying calm and reasonable I will randomly blog about things in my head. Maybe that will help.

Lately, one of Corrigan’s favorite things is to be “chased.”  He loves when we trail behind him, with silly voices saying, “I’m gonna getcha!” and occasionally pinching his butt as he tries to run.  He is as lot like I am in my dreams, when chased, which basically means…immobilized by fear/excitement/panic and his legs suddenly quit working in any predictable kind of way.  (anyone else like that? In my dreams, when under duress I cannot run or even properly dial a phone..which drives me crazy because my dream phones are always rotary dials…what the heck?)  Playing chase with Corrigan normally ends in some sort of head “bonk” because his legs are noodly from glee.

(terrible quality photo but conveys his happiness at playing “chase”, don’t you think?)

In order to prevent too many more head injuries, I have started the chase process and then quickly retreat.  I will then wait for him to race back to me, anticipating more play, and then open my arms and say, “Come here you!” and he will then run into my arms.

Once there, I smother him with tickly kisses, run my fingers up his ribs a few times while he giggles and then release him to run, at his own speed, back down the hall only to repeat the entire process 25 more times.

Of course, nothing can be fun for Corrigan if there isn’t some sort of dangerous thrill so lately he has started this strange thing where he will, when about four-feet away from my outstretched arms, close his eyes, throw his head back and run the final distance “blind” into my arms.

The problem is that when he closes his eyes, he also kind of collapses a bit thinking that I am about to swoop him up for kisses and my arms, though pretty long, are just not four feet long.  I have to really be ready to lurch forward and keep him from falling and whacking his skull on the floor.

Part of me wants to stop the game when he gets more and more daring (and farther and farther away as he closes his eyes and falls) but then another part of me looks at him running down the hall, the absolute joy on his face and knows that he expects me to catch him because he trusts me.

The moment that he closes his eyes and throws back his head he is saying, ” I know you have this covered, mama” and that warms my heart. I snatch him up with the very tips of my fingers and pull him towards me.  His little head is heavy on his limp little neck and I bury my mouth in the sweaty nook between his chin and shoulder.  I feel his body relax and hear his quick, happy breaths and right before I tickle him and push him back away I whisper, “I gotcha, babe.”

and I do.

I’ve got his back until my own last breath.

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