Sigh.

I've probably mentioned before that our cabin is not very baby-friendly. Wonderful, amazing, but not baby-friendly. It's just a one-room space so no separate place for him to sleep, it's in a steep valley, with just about no flat land at all, and tumbly dangerous rocks. I'm not even going to mention the wood-burning stove because obviously that's just out for now. And that weekend we discovered a giant wasp's nest, and Paul was stung twice by the marauders as he hustled past holding August. And the carpenter ants had regained a foothold and scattered sawdust all over the bed.

We keep trying, oh how we keep trying, because of course we want to spend time there and have August love it.

But last weekend we decided it was game-over for a while. I'd had such high hopes because August walks now, in my mind like a champ, but in the mind of the rocky ground he's a wobbly little faun who falls over constantly. One tiny root or stone and over he goes. The creek is too slick and stony for him, and the nearest lake is 40 minutes away. And for some reason sleeping there terrifies him significantly more than anywhere else he's been.

Eventually we were all so tuckered out that we mostly stayed inside and played.

What do you do when your favorite place isn't practical anymore or at least for a while? The place that makes you feel the most calm, the most yourself?

Paul generously encourages me to go on my own (or rather unstintingly upholds our pre-baby agreement that I'd be allowed to whenever I needed to). And this past weekend I did. But it's hard... It's hard entitling yourself to such selfishness. No matter how much you need it.