Once he's safely at PMO, the clock is ticking. Out of the 120 hours I'm home with my kids during the week, these are the three hours I'm assured to only have to care for the needs of one child instead of two. So I take them very seriously. Almost too seriously, in fact.
I often have a "game plan" of how I'm going to use my precious three hours. Some weeks, the plan is to run needed errands that are easier with an infant who still fits in a pop-in, pop-out car seat. Some weeks, I choose to do something I would never otherwise get to do, like getting a pedicure or wandering the mall to look in stores (other than Stride Rite and Gymboree). And some weeks, I haven't had time to figure out a plan, so I do the perfectly reasonable thing: stress about not knowing what to do and not making the most out of my 180 minutes with only one child.
Today was a combination of the first and last scenarios above. I had an initial game plan: to go to our local garden center and get some plants for the pots on our front porch. After that, I had no plan. So, I was staring a couple of hours in the face and hadn't settled on how to use them.
After the garden center, I came home to drop the potted flowers off and make a plan. As I was hurrying around the kitchen (the clock was ticking, after all), I looked down at my daughter. She had been very talkative all morning, using her newly found voice to make all sorts of funny sounds in the car as we drove to and from the garden center. When I looked at her, she immediately lit up the room with her bright smile and gave a happy baby sound to go with it. She was coming up on her nap time and was very tired, but you couldn't tell it from her reaction to seeing me. And that's when it hit me: I didn't know what else I was going to do before I had to pick my son up from PMO, but I did know that I was going to rock her to sleep.
Now that I'm a mom, I've heard all sorts of motherly advice from other women. Some great, some not so great. One piece of that advice often runs through my head, though, is my mom telling me to rock my kids to sleep whenever I get the chance...and to soak in every moment of the experience.
My husband and I worked to train both children to fall asleep on their own, not because we don't enjoy helping them get to sleep, but because we don't want them to be dependent on us for good rest. So, most days I take my daughter into her room, put on music or nature sounds, lay her down in her crib with her paci, kiss her forehead and tell her I love her, and then leave the room. After a few minutes of babbling, she's sound asleep.
Today, though, I realized that I wanted to be there as she drifted off to sleep. Most days, I use the time as she's getting to sleep to meet her brother's needs or take care of something else that needs to be done. And because of that, I carry a bit of guilt about not giving her as much undivided attention at nap time as I did my son when he was her age. I know the reality of having two kids is that neither gets as much one-on-one attention, but that reality doesn't always help me ease the guilt. So, today, I was determined to be present for her nap time and enjoy an experience I don't often get.
We got to her room, I put on her lullaby CD, and I sat down with her in the rocker. When I cradled her in my arms, she looked up at me with her gorgeous eyes and gave me a huge smile...almost as if she realized that I was going to do the unusual and rock her to sleep at nap time. At that moment, I burst into tears. And I was resolved to spend every one of the next few moments soaking in the experience of rocking her to sleep.
Being still and free of distraction (i.e., no toddler needing help, no iPhone, no dryer chiming to let me know that clothes need to be folded) allowed me to notice tiny, amazing things about my daughter. I heard the beautiful little slurping sounds she makes on her paci as she tried to soothe herself. I felt the grip of her hand around my pointer finger as she looked for comfort. I saw how her forehead crinkled when she raised it to look at something that had caught her attention. I saw her restless legs dangle and move as she tried to get into a cozier position. And as she drifted off to sleep, I heard her breathing get slower and more rhythmic, I saw her roll her eyes and duck her head in the same direction toward me, and I felt the weight of her body against mine become heavier. When sleep finally won and her heavy eyelids met, I immediately felt a wave of gratitude for what I had just witnessed.
It's amazing what we notice and discover through being still. The simple becomes amazing. And somehow the stillness gives way to gratitude.
I am guilty of being too busy, but more than that, I'm guilty of overvaluing productivity. I don't run errands unless I can group several together in the same area. I rarely go from one room to the other without taking something with me that belongs where I’m headed. I make shopping lists ordered by location in the store so I don't have to backtrack. Being unproductive drives me crazy. But--as I realized today--so does missing out on the little, beautiful things of life.
Let's face it: being still isn't productive...unless your benchmark for success is enjoying the journey rather than getting to check the box when it's complete.
Psalm 46:10 says “Be still, and know that I am God…”
God knew what he was doing when he asked us to be still. We are busy. Too busy. And in the hustle and bustle, we miss so many wonderful moments along the way. Starting today, I am going to try and be still more often. Maybe, just maybe, it will help me see and experience a renewed sense of wonder about the world around me. And it might also bring me to a deeper sense of gratitude for who God is and what he's done.
And in case you’re wondering, I did find a way to use my remaining PMO time. I held my sleeping daughter right up until it was time to go pick up her brother. Looking back, it was the most productive I’ve been all week.
