Tuesday night thoughts

I spent most of today feeling sorry for myself. Something about being exhausted. And not being able to finish anything I started. And how, every time I turned around, my child had a melt-down.

I found myself wishing for a different day. A day that was warmer. A day when my patience wasn’t unraveled. A day that was melt-down free , for both me and Morgan.

I was missing those newborn days. Those days when we were new. And Morgan was tiny enough for me to carry around and hold as long as I wanted. Back when Jared and I sat at the end of the day, in wordless awe, as we gazed at our newborn, so quiet and peaceful in our arms. With his tiny fingers and toes and ears, and that precious little cry.

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Jared came home from work tonight, he looked at Morgan on the floor, rolling around, fidgeting. Naked. He was holding his sippy cup, drinking apple juice. His face and hands and tummy were sticky. Everything around him was sticky. And in between melt-downs, he looked at Jared and gave him a smile as big as the sun.

And then I started hearing this song in my head. The part that goes something like this: I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself to hold on to these moments as they pass.
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Just a few minutes ago, I was switching loads of wash. I’m really tired, now, at the end-end of this exhausting day. And really, I should be in bed drifting off to much-needed sleep. But I realized something, as tired as I am. Something that I needed to write down for myself. For other days down the road.

Hollie: Things are okay. In fact, they are wonderful. They are perfect, just the way they are. And parenthood will never equal constant bliss. And I will still continue to pull my hair out every now and then (more days, rather than less). But there is perfection in moments that happen every single day (even the worst of the worst days). I need to focus more on those little moments. I need to focus more on living. And breathing. And laughing when Morgan laughs. And enjoying his fingers and toes as they grow. And enjoy the fact that everything about him is growing. And changing. And becoming more of who he is meant to become.

Like Anna Quindlin says: we need to treasure “the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less”.
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Tonight, we lounged on the couch. We watched Morgan dose off in his swing. We watched family videos of the day he was born. We heard that little cry of his. We saw how long and skinny and water-logged his little fingers were. We remembered those days, and how they were not so long ago. We remembered how quiet they were, and how tired we were. How precious those early days have become to us.

But, I suppose today was precious too. Five million melt-downs and all. And I can count a few precious moments that were captured. Some slipped away, and some I remember. And I know that if I make it a point to recount them at the end of the hairiest days, those moments will “build one upon another until they represent a lifetime of special experiences"(President Hinckley).
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I really believe that. And I need to remind myself more often.