Monday, December 9, 2013

Snipits: Challenge and Gift

Asleep on my lap, a rare reality for our little one, as we moved into our new home.
{nov 5}

When I was pregnant with our baby girl, the movie Skyfall premiered in theaters. Radios played the soothing theme song for weeks, and the tune even made an appearance in my prenatal yoga class, the Thursday night relaxation delight that relaxed for a brief hour a body that was growing heavier by the week. 

After my daughter was born, I began to play that song in the car whenever she was losing her mind; crying and screaming uncontrollably, she would be soothed by the rhythmic lullaby while I was reminded of a time when life was a little more simple, a little less tense. And somehow, at the end of the song, she--we--would be a little better.

{nov 17}

After five months of living in a suitcase, I cautiously get excited for any change from the status quo. Part of me is thrilled that we are due to move into our own space in the next week--I love the idea of having my own space, my own kitchen, and the next size up of baby clothes--but part of me feels like an extended vacation is ending. Living in someone else's home, with few belongings allows for a simple existence, a gift as much as a frustration.

As we approach a closing date, I feel a bit of pressure to "finish" any project I can before the end. After all, productivity with a highly active baby is limited at best, and I know that unpacking and reorganizing our new residence will consume all my free time for the next several weeks.


She sleeps for now, silence ringing happily in my ears after what proved to be a trying evening. Exhaustion emanated from her eyes tonight even as she smeared bananas in her hair in between shoving pieces in her mouth. She is stubborn and darling and exhausting and precious and daring and persistent and delightfully interactive--all at the same time. 

We live in our new home, a precious space we feel blessed to call our own, and though unpacking goes much more smoothly when an active nine month old isn't attempting to ingest and tip over everything in sight, we make a little progress every day. More importantly, every day she is a bit more comfortable in our new space, with belongings she hasn't seen since she was three months old, a bit more willing to play independently--as she has been apt to do in the past--because the place is her own. 

I find myself trying to jot down moments to store them away in something a bit more concrete, because my memory has faded from it's pre-baby capacity, a reality I refused to admit for months but now cannot deny. I still play Skyfall when the agitation in the car builds to ridiculous levels; she still relaxes a bit when she hears it. The truth is she loves listening to music in general, babbling and kicking her legs as we sing together in church, giggling and laughing when I sing to the radio at home with her as my only audience. 

I love the moments I have to myself in the evening, to reflect on our day, plan for the week, and clean up the remnants of the latest chaos. And I love that it only takes minutes after she has gone to bed to miss her smile and ways her eyes brighten when she's excited. She is equal parts challenge and gift, neither piece quite as satisfying without the other.

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