those words are still clanging in my brain, like how hours after a concert you can still feel the reverberation in your teeth?

“so this is what you do all day, katie?”

now a permanent tattoo in my cerebral cortex, trying to find elbow room amongst the other new inventory like: “optimal seven-month-old wake times”, “sippy cups that don’t spill”, “cognitive marker recognition”, while still trying to maintain goodstanding with the free-range parenting club.

the little person and i had escaped from the asylum house, an olympic medal feat these days of daylight suckings time where naps get the big “EFFF- you!;” and found our way to the donut shop–a two birds with one stone stop for caffeine and sugar, my street drugs of choice.

enjoying the friday afternoon sunshine and all the gluten my waistband could withstand, i spied a friend from work.

as delicious as my donut, this girl instantly puts a smile on my face. we gabbed girl: family stuff, boy stuff, life. she just gets it. so much younger than me, yet years wiser and cooler. i immediately felt better, calmer, lifted, and it wasn’t just the serotonin surge of my apple fritter.

as we wrapped up our goodbye’s, i watched as my friend took my “get up” all in: my silo of coffee, a stroller strapped, gibbering, bonnet-clad, formula soaked, one sock wearing, seven-month-old, my suitcase-sized to-go box of donuts, undereye bags so enormous delta airlines considers them my carry on, and a diaper bag so teeming full of bullshit i require a bellhop with me at all times. with the sweetest, loving smile she beheld the spectacle that is now me and, in a 1000% non-judgemental way, observed:

“so this is what you do all day katie?”

——-double-fist, jab punch right, SMACK, in. the. gut.——

{punch! punch! punch! punch! punch!}

before i could answer {not that i had an answer} sutton projectiled more formula, volleyed her pacifier onto the sidewalk, and drowned another diaper. {honestly jessica alba, your diapers SUCK!}

we fled the scene blowing kisses and practicing “bye bye.”

but those nine words have stuck with me.

what the hell do i DO all day?

i’m a far cry from the days of 40+ clients and classes per week, and i’m certainly not here with you oversharing like i used to?

but theses days with my little person, often hours of me watching her not sleep on the baby monitor, dart by faster than any spin room sprints, and are ten times more exhausting than teaching four of those said spin classes in one day.

i’m not complaining. i know how crazy lucky i am that i get to be with her during this precious time.

this morning we discovered she has a sense of humor?!………’s not very good, but it’s a start.

she realized she could get me to laugh by licking the kitchen table. i pretended to laugh for another hour, and now my kitchen is spotless. we’re going to work on the hardwood floors tomorrow.

every day there’s something new. something goes away and something else, unfamiliar and just perfect, in her momma’s eyes, emerges.

as much as i miss my old way of hustling, and i daily romanticize the lives of mothers who work full-time, i am grateful for every invaluable second of my new gig.

so i guess, for the time being, i try to take as much of this treasured time in as i can.

that’s what i do all day.

 image from my instagram