In a Nutshell

This Mother’s Day was motherhood in a nutshell for me. A day of highs and lows.

I’m sick again with a cough I caught from Bub, who caught it from preschool last week.

I snapped at Bub this morning for not washing his hands when I asked him to, after he laid on the garage floor.

I was hungry and cranky when I snapped at Steve because I hadn’t eaten breakfast.

While in the kitchen making lunch, I felt guilty for ignoring G, who was in the living room crying and clawing at Steve to try to get to me.

I held G in my lap as I tried to eat my eggs and kimchi.

I was exasperated when Bub wanted me to carry him everywhere.

On the other hand, Steve did everything he could to make me happy.

After I put G down for her morning nap, I got special 1:1 time with Bub when we went to the forest preserve together.

We had an impromptu family dance party before the kids took their afternoon naps.

Both kids napped at the same time and woke up at the same time.

We managed to get out of the house this evening. It was a gorgeous weekend weather-wise.

At bedtime, Bub, completely unprompted, said, “Happy Mother’s Day. I love you.”

Even the hard parts of motherhood would be easier if every day was Mother’s Day.

Blink

“It’s a privilege to hold a baby.”

That’s what my aunt said to me after I thanked her for holding G while I napped with Bub. It was September of last year. G was two weeks old and I was plumb exhausted.

Since then, her words have stuck with me, especially when I finally have a quiet moment with G. Most of the time, she has to share my attention with her brother. We find our quiet moments together at bedtime. When she’s asleep in my arms in the serenity of her room, the noise machine blocking out the rest of the world. Before my mind starts to wander, I sit and stare at her angelic face. Her long lashes fanning downward. Her perfect little pout resting in a frown. Her hands in prayer formation, folded over her chest. I listen to her quietly snore. The top of her head still has a newborn-even-though-she’s-not-a-newborn scent. I feel privileged to be able to hold a baby. My baby. My sleeping baby.

I’m afraid I’ll blink and she won’t be a baby anymore.

Every morning, Bub wakes me up by saying, “Mom, it’s daytime. Time to get up.” I slowly blink open my eyelids. Every fiber of my being wants to sleep longer.

I blink again and suddenly, it’s night time. Another day with the kids gone by.

I’m afraid to blink again.

“WHAT HAPPENED? Never had a good sense of time, but jesus-christ! Yesterday I’m wiping applesauce off my baby’s cheeks and today I’m wondering when she’ll retire. For years I didn’t wear a watch because I wanted to stop time. Now time stops me dead. Tic-Toc.”

— Betty Fussell, "Eat, Live, Love, Die"