Sometimes, I’m cognizant of my mind wandering to the when and the will. A year ago, I thought: Will Adrian always prefer his all you can eat nursing buffet to nocturnal rest of any kind? Will I ever experience a month without migraines? When will I have an hour to myself? Will Lucia get into her zoned school? When will I sleep again? Will they be better off if I work fulltime?
And now I sleep, Adrian stopped nursing a long time ago, Lucia’s in Kindergarten and I’ve found migraine help in a skilled acupuncturist. I sometimes still experience self doubt in mothering.
Our children, our truest markers of ticking time, often remind us just how fleeting these precious moments of childhood truly are. Like when I stop to hear the pitter patter of banging feet on the hardwood floors accompanied by the most beautiful symphony of belly laughs. When I’m fully present in the rhythm of my grandmother’s rocking chair, with Adrian’s wisps of hair in my face and his gentile hand on my clavicle. When my eyes open every single morning to eyes smaller than mine, overjoyed to welcome a new day, arms flailing around my neck.
And all of the sudden, while making memories in mess, the days somehow slip into years and things that feel really big take place:
And I worry and wonder about the when and the will.
And once again I’m reminded that right now is what matters most.