It’s been just under a year since my previous blog post. It’s always difficult knowing quite what to say when I return to The Write Timing after a long absence. I always have a myriad of excuses ready. But it always centers around one main thing; that luxury so many of us don’t have: time.
And I thought I was busy before.
I thought looking for houses, moving into a new one, changing jobs, packing a classroom, etc. etc. etc. kept me busy.
Now I’m a mother.
Now I know what “busy” is all about.
It’s figuring out the exact time to set the alarm in order to maximize sleep and look presentable before the baby wakes up.
It’s microwaving a bowl of oatmeal, grabbing a spoon, and just nearly sitting down when I hear cries from upstairs.
It’s folding laundry just a hair quicker than my darling daughter can take the clothes back out of the basket.
It’s scrambling to grab the most minute items from the floor because she will inevitably find every one.
It’s lugging the vacuum cleaner upstairs only to have it sit for a week until I can “find time” to actually plug it in.
It’s washing bottles, pump parts, baby food jars, and the cutest little spoons you’ve ever seen. Constantly.
And now she’s crawling. And teething. Yeesh.
But it’s also the best kind of busy.
The kind where I sit and stroke her hair, not caring at all that the table is dusty.
The kind where the minutes are spent giving flurries of kisses.
The kind where we figure out the perfect combination of song, toy, and distraction to keep her still long enough to actually change her diaper before she rolls away with a bare bottom.
The kind where every clap, wave, and bubble is celebrated.
The kind where we support each other, work together, and – even through frustration and sometimes exhaustion – are so full of wonder and awe that she’s actually ours.
The kind where every look, every hug, every giggle, every moment is so utterly full of love that sometimes I’m not sure my heart can handle it.
Yep. I’m busy. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.