I know that I’m not alone in continually feeling like there’s not enough time for anything. Like all of us, there are moments when I’m at work and realize that I haven’t yet replied to a personal email, a blogger’s comment, or purchased my brother’s birthday card. While spending time with my son, I often feel guilty about the project that I’d hoped to complete at work. Kicked myself because not only did I not complete it, I know that I will not look at it again for another day. Maybe two. There are too many moments in each day that are filled with worry about something other than what I’m doing.
There are minutes when I feel like I don’t know why I’m doing any of the things that I am doing. Why I’m writing. Blogging. Working. Stressing. Not sleeping enough. Moments when I feel that I am not enough, and never will be.
Tonight, while tucking my freshly bathed and too-tired son into bed, I stared at his almost-sleeping face. Marveled at the fact that he wants snuggles, back-tickles and for me to sing to him. That’s the best part of my day. The worst part is that I have a tendency to grieve these moments, even before they are gone. I miss them while they’re still warm on my skin.
When I’m at work, I love work me. When I’m at Tucker’s school, I love room-mom me. When I’m at home, I love mom me, wife me, and me me. But it’s hard to forget about the rest of the mes. It’s hard to let go of the niggling guilt, the beat-myself-upery for not yet scheduling a doctor’s appointment. Buying a birthday card.
It’s so easy to be only partially present in All of The Things, busy worrying about The Other Things.
Until, somehow, it’s not.
The best part of my day is when I forget where I am.
When I forget who I am.
When I forget how old I am.
How out of shape I am.
How me I am.
The best part of my day happens when I am accidentally here. Now. In the moment. When I’ve forgotten how annoying it is to chase a little boy into a too-hot toy castle for the 14th time and find myself laughing in spite of myself. When I find myself totally and completely into it, if only for a moment. When I am outside myself and inside myself and simply feel. Feel the breeze on my face from my son’s toy castle swirling around me, too fast, too hard, and just right. When I forget that I’m supposed to be trying to have fun and have actual fun.
I walk into the room, ready to declare bedtime and am met with “Mommy! You’re Back!” and a gigantic, wrap-around body hug that leaves me breathless in all the ways. That’s the best part of my day. When I laugh with my mouth wide open, snort, do not suck in my belly, or position my arms so that they look the best, and I’m Just There. Here. When I’m in the Just Right Now.
When I forget that people are watching.
When I don’t obsess over the tiny lines now developing in my cheeks, analyze them, study them, and wonder when they grew from the day they used to only appear near my eyes, and then, only when I smiled.
When I can forget that the person I see today in the mirror is 15 years older than I remember her being.
When I’m not worried, or frightened, or planning, or forgetting to breathe.
When I’m just breathing.
Breathing softly, as I tuck my baby boy into bed, cherishing the days that I’ll still have this. When I forget to miss the moment before it’s gone and simply live it.
Breathing deeply, when I’ve carried him upstairs, upside-down after running laps, over and over and over, out of breath.
Breathing quickly, when I’m over-the-moon-happy about a new word.
The me that is not forgetting to breathe. The me that forgets that I’m supposed to be breathing and just breathes.
The me that lives in the moments.
The moments when I forget that I am, and, instead, am simply here.
Being righthere is the best part of my day.
This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. Today’s sentence is “The best part of my day is…”
Next week’s sentence is “One Halloween, I…”
Your fantastic hosts:
Janine: Janine’s Confessions of a Mommyaholic
Kate: Can I get another bottle of whine?
Stephanie: Mommy, for Real
me: finding ninee