Friday, June 15, 2012

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

Hey Jude,

It's been a rough few weeks, a precious fleeting few weeks. And BOOM. You're four months old.

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping.
You are starting to sleep longer in the early morning hours. We are still up at 5 most mornings, sometimes a little earlier, sometimes a litte later. But now the sweet comma of your sleeping body curls up next to me for another hour or so. These sweet morning naps together turn into sweet morning giggles with your dad. I love watching you two together. It's a beautiful way to begin our long summer days together.

I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping.
I still haven't figured out how to accomplish ALL THE THINGS and give you everything you need as well. Most days, I have third-day-dry-shampooed hair in a ponytail and smell like sweat, milk, and not enough coffee. Sometimes I feel like other mothers have it all figured out; their schedules are working and they're able to check things off their to-do lists. I can't even gather my thoughts enough to make the to-do list. So I'm constantly forgetting things I need to do. (For example, typing this sentence just now, I remembered that your dad has asked me to do the laundry because he has no underwear.) But you never let me forget for a minute how amazing it is to have you on my hip as I try to get the cat hair off the playmat, pour a glass of water, or send a text message with one hand.

I look at the world and I notice its turning.
Jude, you are growing so quickly. Yesterday, the very day you turned four months old, you reached out and touched my face for the first time. My heart broke and that moment was worth every unswept floor and unwritten word and this entire un-done life.
You've started babbling and cooing, and even laughing and squealing. Your legs are so long when I drape you across my body to nurse. And although I have more overwhelmed moments and freak outs and break downs than I'd like to admit, you manage to redeem every single day with a smile or a beautiful nap that reminds me this is so momentary. So what if I'm unravelled and I've lost my entire life to you for the last four months? The world will continue to spin, I'll blink, and you'll be a dorky ten-year-old kid with a dumb bowl cut who can't stop talking about Star Wars.

With every mistake we must surely be learning.
Last week I learned how truly connected we are. I started to worry a bit about your eating. Then that bit turned into full-blown panic, which in turn made you want to eat even less. I cried. I came apart over the fear that my breastfeeding days were over. You're a boy, so I'm not sure you'll ever quite understand it's importance to me. (Heck, I'm not sure if I even understand why I feel so desperately threatened when I think about weaning you before a year's time.) But it is important to me. And so I begged, and prayed, and sobbed, and stressed. Finally, I gave up. I said to myself, "If this is it, this is it. At least I did this for four months." After those words ran through my mind, you decided to nurse for an entire hour. You calmed down, stopped squirming, seemed content afterwards. And so I had to admit to the Internet and my family that "you guys, it was me." I was being one of those insane helicoptering mothers, waving her arms about frantically, trying to figure out what was wrong with her baby. All I needed to do was take a deep breath, trust myself, and let it go.

In this present moment, I'm scooping up all of this and burying it in the middle of myself. I'm rejoicing that I'm your mom! I'm rejoicing that you are exactly who you are and how you are! It's passing so quickly and so, still my guitar gently weeps.

1 comment:

Kaci Johanna said...

Beautiful, Danielle.

And, I hate the "just wait" comments I get from other mamas, but... re: Jude reaching out and touching your face for the first time? It's hard to believe but that feeling GETS BETTER. Wait until he leans in to hug you, or reaches for your face and simultaneously leans in to "kiss" you. My heart shatters each and every time. Dirty, dusty, needs-swept-and-vacuumed-like-yesterday-house be damned.

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