It takes a predictable, patterned, planned-out life and transforms every day into an experiment in flying by the seat of your pants.
Two years ago, I could lay my head on the pillow at night with a plan of action in mind for the next day, wake up the next morning and with enough commitment, carry it to completion. I could make a list in the morning and not go to bed that night until everything was checked off. I could obsess over a book, knock out homework with an all-nighter, sit at the piano for hours till just the right melody came together under my fingers, make a DIY lampshade, work out for an hour, do all my laundry in an afternoon, keep my house as clean as I wanted, whatever. And my feelings of self-satisfaction and accomplishment came and went with the ebb and flow of my own productivity. This system worked well for me.
Now, by the time I crawl into bed at night, I open up a book and fall asleep one page in. (Hence, I have been reading the same Virginia Woolf novel since January). I wake up in the morning and my day conforms to the schedule of the little 8 month old who may or may not sleep through the night, poop, eat, play, nap, or do anything according to plan. The house gets clean when I can clean it, I read a chapter from Psalms and snag a few news headlines over a cup of coffee I have to heat up about five times. At day's end, if I measure my success by accomplishments, by the cleanliness of hardwood floors, by the scattered broken lines I managed to make in my journal during Cohen's nap-times, by the baskets of laundry unclean and unfolded clean at the foot of the stairs, I would probably cry myself to sleep.
Hence, my standard has changed. If I don't have an hour-long quiet time but listen to worship music in the morning, it's a good day. If the house is messy but I cuddle with my fussy teething baby for two hours, it's a good day. If I don't get around to working out but Cohen and I go for a walk in the park, it's a good day. Maybe I don't have anything hugely profound to spill into a journal entry or a blog post, but if I get a few paragraphs out that are real and honest, it's a good day.
In a nutshell, I am still going to try. I will still make my to-do lists, to-clean lists, and to-read lists. And meanwhile, I will choose to see the bigger picture.
I constantly remind myself that one day I will look back on this season and won't remember if I was caught up on laundry, or how many DIY projects I got around to. I will remember the special moments with Cohen, the milestones, the bedtime stories, the giggles, the syllabic chattering of ma-ma, da-da, ga-ga, na-na that is so captivating to my mommy ears it's silly.
I know this is most likely an age-old lesson that every new mother learns probably over and over again. And I am learning it now for the first time. Use your time to do what you need to do, not what you feel like you should do, or what Pinterest and Instagram tell you all the other moms, or single ladies, or college students are doing. Find that one thing that God has put right in front of you right now, and do that thing with all your heart. I will certainly be over here judging NO one.
Until next time.
Cheers.
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