Roby’s a sensitive baby, but we’re sensitive parents, so it works out. I figure most parents are sensitive, just in different ways. She seems to like baths pretty well, right up until the instant water touches her nose, from which point baths are the absolute worst. 

Balancing my time in the woodshop has been difficult. I have a deadline, which is unfamiliar. I’d like to have my office at least workeable by the time I have to use it in two weeks. That means the surfaces need to be done. 

I think that ought to be possible. I don’t believe I’ll be able to have the drawers done, I can’t afford the drawer slides, anyways. I also don’t believe I’ll be able to finish most of the french cleat system I have in mind, nor the slats and detail work. But surfaces to rest a computer on? I think I can do that. 

My time in the shop feels precious and cloyed and stolen. It feels that way despite the fact that I have plenty of it, loads, more than I have any right to expect. I’ve been spending more time in the shop than I think I ever have before, and that’s with the new responsbility of Roby and parenthood. 

So, it’s interesting that that rushed feeling in the shop doesn’t have much to do with the amount of time I spend in the shop, and it’s not purely connected to the pressure of my deadline, either: it’s well in hand. 

Something about my time in general feels precious and stolen. 

Even if I know that Abby’s totally alright and feeling supported, I still like spending time with Roby and her. I like it a whole lot. 
Heck, I woke up this morning missing Roby. We slept in the same bed, I was just unconscious. 

Really, the main pressure of my time in the shop is that I’m spending time away from Roby and Abby. What’s work going to be like, I wonder? A bit less embodied, I can really get lost in the sanding and the workig of wood, but a bit more available. I’m just upstairs, I can hear Roby cry from my office in a way that I can’t from the shop. 

I suppose we’ll see.