When I had The Boy, I spent three days in the hospital. I was in a room with five other new moms, separated by orange curtains on two sides, and walls on the other two. I didn’t have many visitors, and spent most of the day sleeping, feeding the baby, and staring at my thumbs until a nurse came to check on us or mealtime rolled around.
I thought I’d go nuts.
On the second day, I took The Boy to the nursery down the hall so I could grab a much-needed shower. Something was different. The air was still stale. The lighting was still fluorescent. Even the windows were a decent walk away (well, when we consider I had just had a 10lb baby.. anywhere is a decent walk away 
).
And then.. I realized what was different. The radio was on.
I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it. Sure, staying in the hospital for a couple days can be a chore. It’s boring. It smells funny. I’m pretty sure my cell roommates were insane. But.. hearing that music.. made me realize that I’d somehow lost touch with the outside world… if only for a day or two.
And here I am again. After a horrendous fall.. I’m back in synch with the outside world. I’m happy. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it a few months ago, but in some cheesy Sound-Of-Music way, I’m happy.. and all the little things I missed are back.
We’re already halfway through the semester. My schedule isn’t so rough. I have time to piss away an entire afternoon watching movies. I’ve had time to take The Girl sledding and spend time with friends. The house is cleaner (sorta). The car hasn’t broken down in at least a month. I have time. Time to sleep and play and strum my guitar and get my homework done and read to the kids and spend an afternoon in the park. I feel like me again.
It’s remarkable how silly, cheesy little pleasures in life are taken for granted so easily. Stop and smell the flowers, I suppose.
Stop and play the radio.
