I'm a little light-headed due to the inconsistent eating schedule/menu that is motherhood. So, I hope you'll pardon me if this post rambles and if I perchance wander down a rabbit trail. It's also possible that I could say something awkward and if so, pardon me.
It's another Monday and I'm still trying to figure out how to spend this day productively. It's 1:30 in the afternoon, which means I'm a little behind in the productive department. Sam's been asleep for approximately one hour. I'm hoping for one more. I realized today that these two or so hours a day that he naps find me feeling pressured to make them count. I mean, they're the only two hours of the day that kind of belong to me and only me. However, I'm also discovering that the pressure to accomplish something (i.e. read a book, write a book, catch up with a friend, learn something, wash 8 loads of laundry, write a manifesto, etc.)usually backfires on me and I end up doing something completely the opposite of productive. Like reading People magazine. Or painting my toenails. Or looking up unnecessary information on Wikipedia.
I love motherhood, but I find myself a little uncomfortable in it's confines and boundaries of sorts. And by uncomfortable, I just mean that it's against my nature to be at home for long periods of the day, to occasionally not have a real conversation for more than two days in a row, to accomplish so little in so much time. I feel myself straining against the time constraints of a small person's schedule. I'd also like to confess that I'm not very good at playing. I get bored with blocks and trains sometimes and wish that I was at Barnes and Noble. Isn't that terrible?
But, in light of all these ways that I am so obviously wrestling with the colorful realities of mothering, I want to do this. I want to do this with Sam and with any other little people God decides to entrust to us. It's so hard, but in the very same breath, so good.
Sam and I were reading Sandra Boynton's book Opposites this morning and when we got to the "short" and "tall" page, Sam pointed at the tall giraffe and said "towl," which if you don't have your baby translator handy, is "tall." He said it a couple more times until it sounded like "tow" and then as if a lightbulb had gone off in his little head, he pointed to his toe and said "toe." Seriously, people. He's a genius. He got a big squeeze for that accomplishment, which he quickly wrestled his way out of.
I love that kid. Things like that happen all day long and if I'm being honest with myself, I know that those moments are worth a billion trips to Barnes and Noble.