change

I hate winter. I despise it. It's cold and gray and stale. 

Getting out of the house with two children in tow, bundled up, bundled down for car seats, then bundled up again. 

It's the stuff of nightmares.

Snow is only sparkly and beautiful and romantic when it's swirling around Christmas lights or tacky lawn decorations. Mittens and scarves and boots are only fun accessories the first few times you put them on. After a while I feel like I need more room to breathe, more fresh air to inhale, more sunshine to warm my skin.

This is why I hate winter. 

But oh how I love that the seasons change. Fall is upon us and it has been gorgeous this year! Ribbons of gold, red, orange and purple have painted our walks and drives and sunset viewings. 

But all of that is quickly changing.

Those rich hues are starting to fade as the leaves fall, the sky turns gray, and the bare branches remind me that winter is coming. 

And (see above) I hate winter.

But there is just something about this time of year- this precise time of year- this fading, and graying, and chilling time of year. It is, most ironically, one of my most favorite times of year.

The changing of the seasons teaches us something, something about change and renewal and how things never stay the same. Sure Spring always feels more hopeful as green leaves and colorful buds peek through brown grass and cracked side walks, reminding us of the life that begins anew after a cold, tough winter. But this time of year, as a deepening cold moves in and the life giving green goes dormant, I am reminded of the need to step back, take a deep breath, and just slow down. 

The days are shorter. Night falls quickly. Our homes beg us inside far sooner than those long, hazy summer nights. 

With these early evenings my penchant to be productive wanes. It's a lovely excuse to be ok with the undone. To cuddle up inside the warmth and plan low key evenings with those I love the most. To take those dark mornings slowly and find new ways to play before the sun wakes and seems to beckon me to start checking off the ever growing to do list. Sure modern electricity affords us light by which to remain productive even as the moon is high in the sky. But something about the world's darkness tells me it's ok to take my time, to be as lazy as the sun and wake a little more slowly.

I'll soon come to long for the light again. I'll soon despise the frigid temperatures still to come. I'll long for long, warm sunny days and green and white and yellow and pink blossoms on the trees.

I will still despise winter.

But I love the changing of the seasons. 

I love the change of pace.

I am leaning in to this time of year, slowing down, and finding peace in the darkness.

reflections as a new mom of two

I am sitting in stillness this morning. The toddler has gone to "school" for the day. The baby is still sleeping after her 5:30 am feeding. The sun is rising in my backyard. I've spent some time in prayer, praying for my children, praying over us as parents.

I've made a list. A list of two things. Two things I want to accomplish in addition to baby rearing today. In the midst of snuggles and feedings and naps (I need one too) and spit ups and burps. In the midst of other list making as we prepare for Easter and a birthday. In the midst of recovery from a difficult delivery. In the midst of reminiscing, what was he like at this age?

I read this most beautiful piece by Sarah Bessey this week: here we are again @ www.sarahbessey.com.

Yes, here we are again. I am trying my best to soak it all in, to mother without (in spite of?) fear. To hold my baby without fear of spoiling. To nurse my baby, on demand, without fear of feeding her too much or creating bad eating habits. To comfort my crying baby without fear of preventing self soothing.  To sit in moments of silence without fear of the "unproductive."

I am grateful the toddler has daycare in these days of post partum recovery. I am grateful for alone time to bond with our newest one. I am grateful for evenings spent playing with our toddler, watching his imagination run wild, witnessing his sincere love for his new sister, remaining in our routine of stories and snuggles before bed. 

And so, yes, here we are again. The days feel so different and yet so much feels the same as though this is how it's always been. 

This. This love. 

reflections as an introverted momma

I am an introvert.

If you know me, you are probably not surprised by that statement.

I used to hate this about myself. In fact, growing up, I just thought of myself as "shy." And I hated being "shy."  I grew up and learned that what was masking itself as shyness was really just my own need to be by myself a little more than other people. I needed to seek out few, close friendships rather than a huge circle of friends and acquaintences. Thanks to Susan Cain, I have actually come to embrace this about myself; I've really come to love it and see it as one of my greatest assets.

Just when I was growing to love this part of my personality...motherhood happened. Motherhood happened and my heart felt fuller than it has ever felt before. Motherhood happened and I felt like I had actually found my calling. Motherhood happened and I felt a wholeness and a contentment I had never, ever felt before.

Motherhood happened and as the days grew into weeks, the weeks into months, the months into years (!), I began to feel a new level of mental exhaustion I had never felt before. I chalked it up to all the things that motherhood is; all the caring for another human being, worrying about doing things the "right" way, waking at odd hours of the night in response to a child's needs and cry.

And then one day I noticed that even on those less stressful days, those days where things seemed to just come naturally, the day's schedule went perfectly, the baby wasn't as needy, was sleeping all night, nursed well, ate well, played well...that even on those days, those really, really good and happy days, by the day's end, I couldn't wait for just one minute to myself. I couldn't wait for the baby to go to bed so I could just sit and be.

And I felt guilty. Horribly guilty. Here I was, finally "getting" this whole mothering thing, with a pretty awesome, laid back baby, feeling confident in my execution of motherhood, and yet, all I could think about by lunchtime was the next time I could steal time away just for myself.

And yes I realize this is not an uncommon thought. But I work all day; I send my child to daycare while I talk to adults and have lunch with adults and get time alone to myself in a car. And yet, even when I would get home with my baby (whom I hadn't seen most of the day), on many days I still just longed for bedtime to come immediately.

And that's when I realized: It wasn't that I didn't love being a mother, caring for this beautiful human my husband and I created, this hilarious, snuggly, wonderfully smart and funny little guy. It wasn't that I didn't love the cuddles and the time and the bonding.  It was just introverted me needing to recharge, to decompress (by myself), to turn "off" what was constantly "on" throughout my day as a professional and as a mother.

And once I was able to identify that about myself, I felt a little less guilty. It's still a struggle. I still have moments of guilt, moments in which I feel like a failure. But I know it's not failure. I know I am a good mother.  I know my husband and I are doing a great job of loving the mess out of our little boy.

I just have to remind myself that it's ok to need to recharge. It's ok not to sign up for all the play dates or mom's nights out.  It's ok to feel a flutter of excitement as nap time or bed time near.  It's ok.

Because taking care of me is also taking care of my child. Understanding me allows me to be the best, most nurturing and kind parent I can be to my child.

I admit I have to work on this introversion of mine. I sometimes have to do things that don't feel so "comfortable" in the moment in order to really engage with my son, to roar like a lion, or waddle like a penguin, or hop like a frog.  But I do it. And it's challenging. And my exhaustion may reach a whole new level at the end of that day. But it's worth it. To hear him laugh, it's worth it. To watch his eyes crinkle up when he smiles, it's worth it. To hear him say, "I yuv  you."

It's worth it.

So, as we patiently await the arrival of number two, I recognize that adding a new one to the mix won't make this part of parenting any easier for me. But with time, I am learning to dance with the amazing blessing that is, the holy challenge that is before me, and finding the "beat" that works for my family and me.

roar.