By 4:00 p.m. I’ve usually been up about 11 or 12 hours. My energy flags. My blood sugar plummets. I feel myself disconnect, wanting to stare off into the distance, tired of trying to think of another silly sound game or new way to play with a toy. I feel a little lonely at this time of day. Today I called my mother; on the east coast it’s three hours later in the day, so it’s a good time to chat. Talking with her reassured me that my feeling was normal, and that my inclination to slow down is good for me and Claire. While I chatted, I held a rattle in front of Claire (she was on her gym mat) and tilted it back and forth. This fascinated her as she played with the other dangling toys. And the break — the redirection of part of my attention to something other than her — helped me recharge. At the end of the call, I was able to read her five books (these are all short board books), and then I took her up to her room to play “Claire fishing” with linked plastic letters. I even made a short movie. When Husband arrived home, we gave her a bath and tucked her in at 7:00.

I realize that for Claire, every day everything is new. The same rattle she played with yesterday holds new fascination, because today she might be able to manipulate it a bit better. She does not have language or concepts yet, so she doesn’t think herself into boredom. I do attempt to be with her in her discoveries, to experience the world from her perspective. It’s human for energy to wane, though. Playing with the same toys is her practice, and keeping her company (sharing my attention in the moment) is mine.