My mind is a constant whir of activity. I have always found it hard to quiet the hum, it rushes from place to place, ceaselessly flitting between ideas. I have a hard time sitting still. My body fights the stillness, feet tapping, eyes searching for the next thing that needs to be done. Becoming a mom has made this trait both an asset and a hinderance.
One of my favorite memories is the utter stillness of afternoons with a newborn. We would sit in our chair and nurse and rock, and nurse and rock, and then she would fall sleep and I would watch her sleep, until she yawned herself awake and wanted to nurse again. This chair was a place of stillness. The rest of the house could be a mess, the sink overflowing, the laundry basket spilling, but once we were in that chair, both she and I would become still. The world would move around us and we would just be. Hours would pass as we sat there and I wouldn't even notice. They were the most beautifully quiet hours I have ever spent (and probably will ever spend).
Sometimes, when we sit in that chair together now, I can quiet my mind enough to just be. I watch the light dance with the leaves outside her window and my body melts into the chair as her body melts into mine. She doesn't fall asleep in my arms very often anymore but when she does, we sit. I breath as she breaths and I feel her chest rise and fall. Eventually, I gingerly stand and reluctantly place her in her crib. Thankful for the brief moments we reveled in the stillness again.
Image by My Motherhood Story
