socializing with humans that are older than 7 weeks.

This morning I instagrammed about how happy I was cleaning the house last night. It's a little pathetic. We've had a house filled with friends, family and your everyday baby-pilgrim. Every time I have a free moment from Leland (obvious disclaimer; I ADORE my son, but I love the moments he lets me put him down) I am drawn to work rather than play. Obviously. There is a not literal, but figurative, ton of stuff to do and be done. From dishes and vacuums to goat fencing, milking and sheep herding. Not to mention my own need for sleep or food or for the painfully slow rehabilitation of my pregnant and child-birthed body in the embarrassing form of running whilst peeing in my shorts.

But if I had a dime for every time I looked up from scrubbing the tub, or washing a millionth load of diapers to realize I was missing out on hangouts or a hilarious ending to a long story or a sip of beer on the pond rocks or a jam session with the guitars.....well I'd probably have at least a couple bucks by now.

So, this week I've been working on embracing the visitors, and the mess of the kitchen, and the mess of my body and the screams of a sticky babe. Looking over the last week I noticed I took a lot of photos...as some form of proof that I was in on the action of the fun. Though, if I was taking photos I mustn't have been participating too actively. Which is another problem altogether. Baby steps.