Little things matter. I bought these glass water bottles and keep them in our fridge. Some with lemon and oranges. Some with plain water. Drinking out of them feels indulgent and special. I’m learning that taking time to do little things - ones that might seem silly to someone else - feels like self care.
Earlier is better. Waking up early and going to bed early aligns with my body clock. I’ve always been an early-to-bed kind of girl, but lately we’ve been getting up at 5:30 and it feels so right.
Less is more, less is more, less is more. I knew this about myself, but feel like I’m learning it again as I watch Mac play. If I give him a basket of toys, he’s not interested in them. If I give him one or two toys, he plays happily. Just like when my closet is too full. We really don’t want to have to make a lot of decisions.
I need my weekends to feel different than my weekdays. I operate best when the weeks feel more rigorous - with working during Mac’s naps, an earlier wake time, etc. It allows me to more fully enjoy the weekends. Watching my mom in retirement shows me where I get it. She keeps a schedule every week even though she doesn’t technically have to. I am sure I will do the same!
Words for a Brand New Mama
It gets easier.
It gets easier.
It gets easier.
Nothing is wrong with you for thinking it is harder than you expected.
Nothing is wrong with you for thinking the weeks are passing slowly.
Nothing is wrong with you if you’re sort of counting down until the six week mark.
Nothing is wrong with you if you love your baby so much you want to cry.
Nothing is wrong with you if you talk to your baby all day. Like real one-sided conversations.
Also, nothing is wrong with you if you aren’t sure what to talk to your baby about. And if sometimes it feels like the walls of your home are closing in around you.
{Go outside. Bundle that babe up. Take a walk. Go to the grocery store. See humans.}
Nothing is wrong with you if you want to drink in your babe - every inch of him - savoring every single second. And yet? The days couldn’t feel longer. Not to mention the nights.
Nothing is wrong with you if you feel intense nostalgia for the present, wishing you could bottle up this time and drink it again later in life when you’re more rested and could appreciate it more. Like could you have a week with your baby - your newborn baby - when you’re 65, too? Just one extra week.
Nothing is wrong with you. You’re normal. These days are precious, beautiful and oh-so hard.
It gets more fun.
It gets more exciting.
Hang in there.
It gets easier.
It gets better.
It becomes the best, most amazing and beautiful thing you have ever done.
Marry a Man Who is Gentle & Kind
Yesterday the snow fell for hours. It was more snow than I’ve seen in, probably, in a decade. It poured into the evening and left a blanket over the city. It reminded me of a heavy, gentle hand on an aching body - like your mama rubbing your back when you were little. Quieting, slow, soothing.
Oh Holy Night played in our house as I watched Mac watch the snow fall. Eyes big, wondering what was happening. Chris was outside, smoking meat. No snow day for the smoker! He said with the glee of a little kid. He made a snow ball and threw it at a tree. I thought about the future - how much Mac will love this day. How much Chris will love acting like a boy with him.
I thought, as I watched them, about how, if I could go back and tell myself anything when it comes to dating, I’d say this: marry a man who is gentle and kind. Other things sometimes seem more important when you’re dating. It can be easy to get wrapped up in checklists and criteria. But in the end, just marry someone who is kind to you. Marry the man that can make you feel as calm as a falling snow - safe and sound. Marry the one, who, when your mama can’t be there to rub your back, can give you the same sense of peace.
And then, work hard to be just as gentle and kind right back.
Seasons for Listening
Chris and I have been getting up early, lately, to have a morning before Mac wakes up at 7. We read the bible and drink coffee. Chris goes to the gym while I free write. It’s slow but intentional. The first few times our alarm went off, it felt painful, but as the days have continued, it has begun to feel like an investment in myself.
This week, I’ve felt frustrated as I have tried to write each morning. The words aren’t coming. I feel a little lost when it comes to picking a subject. I am all bottled up. Lots of ideas, nowhere to take them. Lots of beginnings, no real output.
I couldn’t figure out what was keeping the words from coming together. I’m reflecting, making time for stillness, reading at night. All of the fixings for good writing.
It hit me this morning as I sat with my computer in my lap, staring at the Christmas tree for inspiration:
Some seasons are just for listening and learning.
They will be quieter times in life, which is something our Instagram, fast-paced world doesn’t encourage. There might be a little less engagement. But I don’t want to be afraid of not having followers here or on Instagram.
I don’t want to live life forcing output, making noise just to keep up.
Sometimes, we are meant only to listen.
I’ve been doing this month’s #AdventWord on Instagram. This morning the word was sprout. As I sat quietly with the word, attempting to meditate (which is something I never seem to get much better at!), I felt the Lord encouraging me to trust what is sprouting in my life. I have a lot of little ideas and half blog posts. A lot of beginnings, but I can’t quite see where they’re headed. I was reminded, this morning, that just because we can’t always see the full picture, doesn’t mean it isn’t working together. The little sapling in the woods isn’t irrelevant, just because we haven’t yet realized it’s part of the entire forest.
I often find these quiet seasons to be the calm before the storm. Not bad storms, but, instead the ones that wash over us. The all-consuming, big-idea seasons. The fast-paced, everything is coming together ones.
So I’m remembering, today, to be still, to love my little and to trust what is sprouting.