It seems wrong to have my first blog post in monrhs be a unorganized collection of brain droppings. It seems like I should be doing a cutsie family status update full of pictures of my smiling children being success, adorible quips and quotes from my three year old and deep pondering about the meaning of life. But it is my blog, damn it, and that just isn't the space I am ocuping today.
I slept from 3-5:30 am, and not of my own choosing. I am grumpy. My husband is traveling. The weather has turned humid so don't even get me started on the state of my hair. I didn't get to drink my coffee this morning between meeting the needs of many little people. Then there is the news; the heartbreak of families losing everything in the storms in the midwest. As I serve my kids cold cereal, there are mothers stumbling through soul sucking grief of losing a child. It makes my lack of sleep and coffee bitching seem petty.
My son is such a blessing, this is what I keep telling myself. The one year old stage is not one of my favorites. Jamison's favorite pass time is destroying things, emptying shelves and drawers, unfolding laundry, throwing food from his tray. He is just tall enough to grab things from the table top...and pull them down on his head. He has slept one 7 hour stretch, ever, in his life. A good night is him getting up at least 3 times. He screams like you are ripping off appendages when you pick him up to redirect his activity, going full limp noodle in your arms.
This, too, shall pass.
I could let him "cry it out" but that goes against my very heart. I believe babies cry for a reason and when we respond in love, we teach them there world is a safe place and that they matter. I know that believing babies even SHOULD sleep through the night is a strictly western world concept. I know this, science back all of this, but somehow at 3 am it just seems...hard.
Despite this, I know better than to wish away this stage of exploration, discovery, and self expression. I love the big, sloppy wet kisses he gives unprompted. It melts my heart when he snuggles on my shoulder and pats my back with his little hand. His sense of humor is emerging and the strangest things set him into full belly giggles. Thump a rubber duck from the side of the tub into the bath? Uproariously funny, over and over and over. I love watching him play chase with his sisters. I get such a kick out of seeing him get so excited about the cat that he quivers. Just because this stage is hard doesn't mean I want it gone.
There is a lot of Buddhist teaching about being in the moment, about how pain comes from longing and misaligned expectations. This makes so much sense to me. I am most irritated when I get stuck in the "shoulds". My children are people unto themselves, they will develop on there own timetables I am helping to shape lives, grow little people into big people and show them what love really looks like so that they will seek and find its ultimate source in God.
My problems are decidedly first world. I am blessed beyond measure. And I am still unpleasant company.
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