Time Out

Thursday evening found me alone with Summer and Anders. No “big” kids. No Mike. There was a lot to be done and a very hungry baby to be fed.

For a minute I panicked.

Then, instead, I became the queen of self-empowerment. I pulled my hair up, squared my shoulders and proceeded to start a load of laundry, wash the dishes, and vacuum -- all while nursing Summer.

"I’d forgotten,” I thought to myself. “I can do this baby thing. It’s just work. It just requires working harder. . . . Sometimes one-handed.”

And often that is it – just work; working harder (and with only one hand if necessary).

But then . . . yesterday and today, Summer has been so unhappy with life. Uncomfortable and sad. Needy and never long for sleep.

The answer, I have been discouraged to discover, has not been found in simply “working harder”. What has been called for, what Summer has needed is . . . less work; less doing and getting done.

And less work, I’m afraid, is a much bigger challenge for me.

It is.

It is much easier for me to simply “gird up my loins” (a little Bible reference for you there) and work harder – do what needs getting done. I struggle much more when life calls for me to sit still and just be; when I am asked to step back and let things unfurl about me a bit.

But, my dear, sweet Summer. She’s only been here – on this earth, with this body – for two and a half weeks. I have been ready for things to be back to normal; ready to do all of the things we do around here. But Summer, . . . she doesn’t even know what our normal is. She just knows . . . she’s not quite ready for it. She needs a little longer to be allowed to eat when she wants to eat and to sleep and wake – with no rhyme or reason – securely snuggled in my arms.

She needs me to let things be not normal for a little longer.

And I will, of course. I understand her. I know what it’s like. We’re not so different, my little baby and I. She’s working hard to figure this living business out, and so, it seems am I.