When Connor was born, Ed and I went through this very intense phase of sleep deprivation. Ed could no longer see things right in front of him, and I could no longer form words. Conversations would go something like this.
Me: "Could you get me the...the thing? You know, that you make tea in?"
Ed: "The teapot? Yes. Where is it?"
Me: "It's in the...the place. That has doors. In the room we cook in."
Ed: "You mean, the kitchen cupboard? OK."
Ed...staring straight at the teapot. "No, it's not there. I can't find it." and then I would go up and point out to him that it was approximately 10 inches from his nose.
In the middle of all this, I decided one day that a cup of tea was just what I needed. Yes, a cup of hot tea would make everything better. I would make the tea, go downstairs and hang out in front of the TV watching Oprah, with Connor resting nearby, and everything would somehow be right in the world again. Well...I got to the part about putting water in the tea kettle, and the part about going downstairs, and the next thing I knew, Ed was turning the stove off. Every drop of water in the teapot had boiled off, and the once shiny copper kettle was now completely black.
Being a bit on the emotional side at the time, I suspect I cried. Not so much because my beloved teapot had been destroyed by my sleepy, careless hands, but because it was surely a sign that things would never be the way they used to be. I would never be able to function among other adults. My life, as I knew it, was over. And what's more, the life I was entering was over my head. I was in deep, and that teapot symbolized just how dark things might get.
Ed consoled me, and then he scrubbed that teapot so hard that it was almost copper again. Though in a weakened state, no doubt. But I was so happy to see even a little sign that things could be right again, I embraced by battle scarred teapot, and continued to use it.
Earlier this year, Connor decided my teapot was very cool. He decided he needed it for some very important kitchen project. I foolishly left it within his grasp. And then, a few minutes after I had left the kitchen, Ed and I heard the sound of something metal hitting the ground. It was the SPOUT. Yes, somehow, Connor had managed to free the spout from the pot. I'm not sure whether I should be frightened or impressed, but clearly the teapot was officially dead.
It was then that I told Connor it was all his fault that my teapot died and I would like a new one for Mother's Day.
Yesterday, a package arrived. As soon as I came home, Connor requested "scissors" so we could "open...present". I had been warned that Ed had ordered some things for my birthday, our anniversary, and Mother's Day, so I told Connor he and Daddy could open it when Daddy came home. Connor forgot about the box until he saw it this morning.
But when he noticed it, he called downstairs for Ed and insisted that Ed get scissors so they could open the present right away. I went into another room, and Connor and Ed dug in. As soon as Connor got the to the box with the teapot in it, he brought it to me, completely excited. Only I didn't want to ruin the surprise, so I closed my eyes. Connor bumped into me with box and I told him that I wasn't looking. Unexpectedly, he went from being the most excited toddler on the planet to bursting into tears. So I opened my eyes. And you know what, Mother's Day in March is just as great as Mother's Day in May. And that lovely brass tea kettle, still covered in laquer and super shiny? That's how I feel about life now.
Thanks, Connor. For the lovely brass tea kettle.
PS: I realize the photos have absolutely nothing to do with the post, but I know some readers (ahem, Ed) only look at the blog for the photos - so a long-winded post from me is surely not appreciated without at least a couple shots showing that despite the morning chaos, all is well with Connor too.
PPS: My friend Thérèse read this post and sent me this link. I am not the only mom whose teapot fell victim to the early days of motherhood