Life has been flying by me. Learning to be a mom, a parent, and co-parent, it's consuming. Self-care, mindfulness, and reflection are not as readily available as they once were. Necessities that used to be an easy part of my everyday life seem like luxuries today that I yearn to have. But it take planning, persistence, scheduling, and mostly, luck, for me to find a moment where they are accessible, and it feels like a lot of work to get there.
My baby is a year old. How did that happen? I'll tell you, in the blink of an eye. And in every moment, I see life unfolding before my very eyes. I see wonder and awe at every new shape, sound, and concept. I see elation when tasks are accomplished and mysteries solved. I see frustration when it doesn't come easily. I see fear of the unknown. I see caution when its unnecessary. and reckless abandon when maybe caution should be considered. I see resistance to change. and adaptability and flexibility when things don't go as planned. I see boundaries being tested and held. I see a microcosm of what it is to live, in pint size form. And, at the end, I see it all ending up just as it should.
And why don't I understand that this small life is a reflection of a larger one? At it's core, this first year of life is no different from the 36th of mine. The lessons are always there, if I'm willing to slow down and see it. And especially now = I have a front row seat to get back to the basics. If I can take a second away from the work that never quits, the plans that have to be made, and the tasks needing completion.
I keep forgetting that there is a plan, but it brings tears to my eyes to see it starting to come full-circle again. We were recently at Mount Rainier, Jeff, the baby, and my in-laws. We were just outside of the base, eating blackberry pie at a tiny restaurant in the middle of nowhere. I was watching my son eat, laughing at my husbands jokes, enjoying the strengthening of a relationship with his parents that we did not have before the baby. And suddenly, in my ear, I heard the faint melody of a chorus I knew so well. The same song that I was listening to when I was struggling to get pregnant; that I heard at a work lunch the day I returned from maternity (and referenced in a blog); a song that was written and released over 10 years ago that was never on the radio and has little to no business being played. In that moment, all the chaos, all the uncertainty, all the fear...it was gone. And maybe it was fleeting, but it was real. In that moment, there was a vacuum where all of it was gone, and it was me, connected to the universe and truly understanding that it would all be okay.
We returned to Chicago, and a few weeks later, things were back to crazy, and moderately unmanageable, as life with a (almost at that time) one year old and two working parents tends to be. We were sitting in a restaurant, again with my in-laws who had come to Chicago to celebrate Hayes' birthday, and suddenly, Jeff says to me, "Hey, it's your song." And there is was again, a gentle reminder that no matter the setting, the location, the time, the season, the year...that things were unfolding as they should, all I need to do is trust. My purpose, my constant - it's there for me always, I just need to listen.
www.lifeimpaired.com/blog-titles/the-stable-song-part-two-gregory-alan-isakov
www.lifeimpaired.com/melissas-blog/generator-first-floor
"I cursed and I cried, but now I know."
My baby is a year old. How did that happen? I'll tell you, in the blink of an eye. And in every moment, I see life unfolding before my very eyes. I see wonder and awe at every new shape, sound, and concept. I see elation when tasks are accomplished and mysteries solved. I see frustration when it doesn't come easily. I see fear of the unknown. I see caution when its unnecessary. and reckless abandon when maybe caution should be considered. I see resistance to change. and adaptability and flexibility when things don't go as planned. I see boundaries being tested and held. I see a microcosm of what it is to live, in pint size form. And, at the end, I see it all ending up just as it should.
And why don't I understand that this small life is a reflection of a larger one? At it's core, this first year of life is no different from the 36th of mine. The lessons are always there, if I'm willing to slow down and see it. And especially now = I have a front row seat to get back to the basics. If I can take a second away from the work that never quits, the plans that have to be made, and the tasks needing completion.
I keep forgetting that there is a plan, but it brings tears to my eyes to see it starting to come full-circle again. We were recently at Mount Rainier, Jeff, the baby, and my in-laws. We were just outside of the base, eating blackberry pie at a tiny restaurant in the middle of nowhere. I was watching my son eat, laughing at my husbands jokes, enjoying the strengthening of a relationship with his parents that we did not have before the baby. And suddenly, in my ear, I heard the faint melody of a chorus I knew so well. The same song that I was listening to when I was struggling to get pregnant; that I heard at a work lunch the day I returned from maternity (and referenced in a blog); a song that was written and released over 10 years ago that was never on the radio and has little to no business being played. In that moment, all the chaos, all the uncertainty, all the fear...it was gone. And maybe it was fleeting, but it was real. In that moment, there was a vacuum where all of it was gone, and it was me, connected to the universe and truly understanding that it would all be okay.
We returned to Chicago, and a few weeks later, things were back to crazy, and moderately unmanageable, as life with a (almost at that time) one year old and two working parents tends to be. We were sitting in a restaurant, again with my in-laws who had come to Chicago to celebrate Hayes' birthday, and suddenly, Jeff says to me, "Hey, it's your song." And there is was again, a gentle reminder that no matter the setting, the location, the time, the season, the year...that things were unfolding as they should, all I need to do is trust. My purpose, my constant - it's there for me always, I just need to listen.
www.lifeimpaired.com/blog-titles/the-stable-song-part-two-gregory-alan-isakov
www.lifeimpaired.com/melissas-blog/generator-first-floor
"I cursed and I cried, but now I know."
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