The Dishes Can Wait.

At my bridal shower each guest was asked to write a piece of marriage advice on a card.

Jason's Aunt Sandra's was my favorite, and it's posted up on my fridge as a reminder.

"The dishes can wait for tomorrow."

When I was younger I prioritized cleaning at about the same level I did my chemistry class in school. Meaning I could care less. My mom and I fought about cleaning my room probably more than anything else, because she's a mom and I was a teenager and it was the law, but something shifted when I moved out on my own at 18.

I became a neat freak.

And that weird, un-Sarah like trait has remained, has become more ingrained in my self with each passing day, especially since I became a mother.

I think a lot of it is that cleaning offers a bit of control. When I moved to New York and into a dorm with a roommate I didn't know, the least I could do was keep my room insanely tidy. When I couldn't figure out what to do for a living, at least the bed was made. When I was pregnant and terrified and unsure about the direction my life was taking, at least Adelyn's future room was spotless. And when I came home from the hospital, suddenly responsible for something more vulnerable and helpless than I could have prepared for, at least the counters were shining and the laundry was done.

Yesterday wasn't the best. Adelyn's constipation issues showed up again, and she spent a lot of the day squirming and screaming. She wouldn't nap for more than five minutes and wouldn't eat more than an ounce at a time. Jason even came home from work a little early because I was at a loss, standing at her changing table, watching her strain and cry.

It was a tough day for her more so than it was for me, I'm sure. Around seven--about an hour before her usual bed time--she wouldn't keep her eyes open long enough to finish half her bottle, so we put her to bed early. And she immediately shut her eyes and started snoring.

The difficulty of the day meant that I hadn't been able to take back control and clean up. After we put her to bed, I looked around at the bottles, glasses, unfolded blankets, spilt formula powder and drenched burp rags that had taken over our apartment throughout the day, and my first impulse was to fix it.

We got a wedding gift in the mail yesterday from one of my dad's close friends--a set of beautiful, way-too-nice wine glasses. So to break them in Jason had brought home a bottle of wine.

Before I cleaned up, I decided, I'd sit outside with Jason and have a glass. It had been a long day. I'm not much of a wine-lover, I'm more of a beer girl. But those glasses deserved to be used.

We went outside to our back porch overlooking the still-flooded river and shut the door behind us. And then we talked, first about Adelyn, as were are accustomed to doing. Then we moved on to his job. Then my goals for my job. My writing, his music. Our families, our family, our wedding, my friends, his friends. Our first date, our first break up. Christianity, Judaism, religion in general. The flooding, the Gulf Shore Oil Spill, the Times Square bomber, terrorism, racism, nationalism. Everything. Before I knew it the sun had gone down and we were sitting in darkness. The bottle of wine was gone. We were missing Lost. Those drenched burp rags were still on the couch.

I went to bed feeling infinitely better about so much in my life, from going back to school to my intended career to our incredible, confusing baby girl. I didn't clean up until just a minute ago, when I got Adelyn down for her first nap. And the world didn't implode.