A friend reminded me that in one of my last posts (it's a bit too stale to call it "recent"), I said that I'd probably be posting more often, now that I'm done with the Master's degree and all.
Instead, I've had a lovely time in my living room floor, tossing around some tupperware containers. I've been keeping a house running. I've been singing, playing, teaching, and reflecting upon music. And I've been baking bread.
That last one has given me reason to worry about my fitness to parent, after a little incident last week involving a drunk dog and rising dough:
What I didn't say at the time is that my dog "found" it because I left it at nose level in Fiona's bedroom floor. The recipe said to let it rise in a warm place, and that room gets warm. Didn't even occur to me that the dog could easily push the door open and eat it all.
And that's my problem: I didn't consider what might happen. Fast forward a few months, and my daughter is mobile. What's lying around my house that could send her to the hospital when she eats it? Who knows? I don't. And even when I do eventually do the initial "baby-proofing" as she starts getting into stuff, I'm sure there will be things like that bowl of dough that seem perfectly benign that send her into some sort of altered reality, like my drunk dog.
This is not an "oh no, the big bad world is going to get my little girl" sort of thing. I know you can't protect them from every skinned knee, creepy stranger, broken heart, stolen car, school bully, etc. This is my painfully real observation that I don't know what the hell I'm doing, and if I almost killed my dog with alcohol poisoning FROM BREAD, who knows what I'm accidentally capable of doing to my child?