Moments.

You’re sitting next to me in your bouncer as I attempt to write the first paper from my dissertation as Pandora is playing a lullaby rendition of three birds by Bob Marley: “Don’t worry about a thing, cause every little thing is gonna be alright…”

I fully admit that I was terrified to have kids, I guess that’s why I was always so hesitant, coming up with excuses why “now is not a good time” and always kept your dad waiting. I always knew that one day you’d come along and change my world, but I was so wrong in the reasons why. Before you came along, I was so focused on all the wrong things, thinking that: I’d constantly be changing diapers, I’d be stressed out because I’d probably be unable to sooth your cries, I’d be struggling to get work done and my career wouldn’t pan out as planned, I wouldn’t be as great as mother as every Jane, Jill and PeggySue, I still have too much to learn about motherhood before actually becoming one and the list goes on— that I wasn’t able to see what actually would happen.

The reality is that you’ve slowed me down and humbled me to be the person I’ve always wanted to be and the mother that I truly hoped I would be. I look at you and the last thing I could ever think is how changing your diaper is tedious or how soothing your cry is frustrating. Every time I change your diaper, you smile and giggle up at me and my whole heart explodes with pure contentment. It’s as if you know you’ll be comfortable once again in just a minute and you giggle with anticipation. Soothing your cries has become one of the most peaceful times of the day, when I am solely focused on just you and the outside world just fades away as we dance in the kitchen as I sing probably the worst rendition of twinkle-twinkle-little-star, but I could care less because it makes you happy. In that moment, nothing else matters but you and me and the peace we reciprocally give one another.

By slowing down, I’ve been able to process things better, I take an extra second to appreciate the moment I’m in and commit it to memory, to truly appreciate the important things in life and let everything else dissipate—and for that, I thank you. I never want to forget the simplicity of my days with you. Before you, simplicity terrified me, yet now, I’ve come to understand how truly perfect simplicity is. The ‘Type A this needed to be done yesterday’ person I’ve been for so long is finally content with going-with-the-flow, laughing off the times of “oh shit, well that didn’t work” and thinking rolling over is the greatest thing that ever happened to man. I went from thinking about life as a series of milestones to thinking of it as a series of moments. Everyday, simple moments are what I hope I remember the most.

At the end of each day, I recognize that I have more than I’ll ever need and those before mentioned hesitations were just that, unnecessary hesitations. It was my own lack of confidence to be a mother or maybe the need to feel that everything needed to be perfect that got in my own way, otherwise, I would have had you oh-so-much-sooner. We may not be in a house yet, but you’re here, happy & healthy, so to me, that’s a ‘perfect’ time and condition.

“Singin’ sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin’, “This is my message to you-ou-ou…”

 

2 thoughts on “Moments.

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