Next to me, there is a basket full of clean laundry, getting more and more wrinkly by the moment. On the bed, there is remnants of the breast pad that our dog got into because I accidentally left it on the nightstand. There are piles of clothes, baby toys, and random stuff littering the floors.
In the kitchen, there are some clean dishes ready to put away and a whole slew of dirty ones waiting to be washed. The floor needs a good sweeping and the counters are speckled with crumbs.
The living room is just messy. Old mail covers the coffee table, used cups create a glass city on the side table, and baby blankets are heaped on the chair. Plus, there are left-over birthday balloons floating about from Josh's birthday.
The baby is sleeping in his nursery--well, I should say almost sleeping. He was almost sleeping ten minutes ago until the dog barked at a cat and woke him up from his light drifting off. So, I'm praying that the dog keeps his yapper shut long enough for Luke to really fall asleep.
And I sit here. There are a thousand things I could be doing. But I am here.
I told Josh the other day that I feel like I can never quite get on top of things. If I clean one room, another gets neglected. By the time I actually finish the laundry, another load has appeared.
Also, I've been battling a few days of the "blah" sickness--allergies, a little cold, who knows? Plus, Luke is waking up in the middle of the night again (after months of sleeping through the night), so I'm getting disjointed and, honestly, not enough sleep. However, going to bed earlier the last few days has helped, so for that, I'm thankful. And today, I feel a little more like myself and a little more motivated to do something.
In these moments, it's hard to untangle myself from the idea that a clean home equals doing a good job as a women. Or that tackling every day with energy makes a successful day. Or that having a constantly happy baby (which, p.s., is impossible when they are teething) means that I'm doing a good job as a mom.
So, today, I'm letting go of the thousands of expectations that I create for myself and hold on to rest. Even now, after taking ten or so minutes to write, my mind feels refreshed. Writing, for me, is often rest.
Today, I will gather the little pieces of energy I collect after rest and do a little here and there. I'll hold onto the moments of being with my little family and remember what the sum of it all is--a life lived, not a clean house and a thousand productive days.
Do you ever feel like everything just comes at once and feels so overwhelming? How do you rest? Do you ever feel like transitions just throw you through a loop?