A little over a year ago my sweet little ginger baby girl was still nursing. She didn’t sleep through the night until I weaned her, waking several times and crying out to me. We lived in a haze of exhaustion.
In the morning, at first light, she’d wake, screaming, until I came to her. We’d start our morning routine; fresh diaper, snuggles and nursey-time on the couch, while my sweet husband prepared coffee. My little boy made himself busy playing Legos and for almost a solid hour I’d sink into our love-worn sofa letting this little baby nuzzle me.
Mornings look different now. How a year can change things. I roll out of bed at 5am to teach English to sweet little Chinese students half-way across the world. My little boy is becoming more and more self-sufficient, dressing himself in his school uniform and often even preparing his own breakfast. As I walk up the stairs from my basement office I can often hear him giggling to Fineas and Ferb, and yes he figured out how to turn on the T.V. and navigate Netflix long ago.
Baby girl still wakes up crying, but not for me, instead for her little dog, Pepper—the source of her morning snuggles.
By 7:30 it’s a rush to get out the door, coffee spills on the counter and oatmeal bowls in the sink. Of to school and work my gentlemen go, while baby girl and I head to the gym. The days are regimented and life works well this way.
But today, my body feels older than my thirty-some years, I scroll Instagram and see young mothers who seem to have all the energy. Whereas most days we’re barely making it. We opt-out of the gym for the day and determine what chores need to be done and what can wait. We make our world small, focusing only on the here and now. The big stuff can wait. Today my body needs to rest, my little girl needs snuggles and a tea party-mate.
Somedays, this is what we need to do, lean into the quiet, allow for rest and games. It’s a big grand world out there, but it’s just as grand in our little space.
Mommas, we all need this occasionally, rest for the weary, the oxygen mask on first, the time on the floor with a toddler. The slow and beautiful of life. The quiet morning, day.
The do-er in me feels a level of guilt when leaning into the quiet and slow, but I read somewhere that we aren’t built for breakneck speeds. Yet life and society tend to demand it. There will always, always, always be a need for us to do, do, do.
Today, I quiet, I listen to that rhythm in my soul, and dear friend, I give you permission to do the same.
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