in moments of silence

It's hard somedays...I have to will myself to put the baby down.  His sleeping body breathing in sync with mine; his small hand clinging to the neck of my dress.  I watch him breathe in and out, his perfect mouth slightly open, and I think back...back to when I was a a brand new mother, with only one baby to care for.  Time with him never had to be shared.  Our days stretched ahead of us with no to-do's.  I was able to bask in every moment, watching blissfully as every "first" was met. So unaware of the world around me.  It was a new love and I was infatuated.

I lay my fourth baby down reluctantly.  Three other loves wait for me.  There's schooling to be done, mouths to feed, laundry to wash, floors to be swept, books to read, fun to be had....the list is endless.  I feel bitterness creep in. Angry that this "pandemic" has stolen time.  Time I would have had to bask in my baby guilt free.  Time to just stare at him while he sleeps in my arms.  Time when the older two would have been happily learning from teachers they adore, next to friends they would play with at recess.  Time when I would play with my third giving him all of my attention while the baby slept.

Now getting the baby to sleep feels like a means to the next task on my to-do list.  I feel like I can't put him down fast enough in order to explain to my oldest his next assignment while simultaneously hearing little brother yell from the bathroom that he needs help wiping while sister follows close behind me asking what she can do. I'd be rich for every "just a second kiddo" that comes out of my mouth. I get called out for not giving a hundred percent of my attention to any given child at an given moment.  I quickly apologize trying to focus on whichever one is asking...needing.  I feel stretched too thin. And then the baby cries.  Awake.  Ironic that of all my children, he is the fussiest.  Only calm nestled close to my body.  I thank God multiple times a day for being able to wear my baby wrapped close to my body.

In moments of silence....rare beautiful moments, when all three kids are diligently working, or engrossed in a story or getting along playing outside and the baby is sleeping or happily playing on his mat, I feel oddly lost.  For that brief gap, no one needs me and I wander aimlessly, my mind never resting, paging through lists of what I should use this empty time for; which of the never ending chores should I tackle.  And the truth is, sometimes I just sit.  My body not moving physically but I feel a constant energy buzzing around me....through me...almost like being still is betraying the chaos that has become our new normal.   Stillness is unfamiliar.  To sit in it is almost uncomfortable.  But somedays in those windows of quiet, I force myself to get reacquainted with the quiet.  I force myself to let go of the mental to-do lists, I put my phone in another room, and I let my gaze pass over the messes screaming for my attention.  I find a patch of sunlight and I sit and I breathe deep.  And sometimes I cry.  Sometimes I think about all of the things I am thankful for.  Sometimes I beg God for just  little more patience to get through the rest of the day.

The baby cries, a kid yells, the dryer dings and the stillness passes.  Thoughts begin their ceaseless drumming in my head once again.