The Rhythm of This Season

The Rythm of This Season | Houston Moms Blog

It’s 2 AM, and someone’s crying. The baby is hungry… maybe? Or is it his diaper, or is it gas? Why won’t he stop crying?? Big sister wakes up; she wants to sleep in our bed. Climb on in, join the circus. Toddler kicks to the head for the remainder of the night. Up two hours later to feed the boy again. Eyes close for a solid ten minutes before the alarm goes off.

Morning

Get up, look alive, it’s time for work. Throw on the clothes laid out the night before–at least some semblance of order is a must. Smear on some make-up, unless laziness from the night before comes in to save the day and it’s already there. Pump a bottle to leave with daddy for the baby. Gather approximately 1,000 pounds of stuff combined from three separate bags. Laptop, lipstick, packed lunch {because the budget is tighter with two kids}, breast pump. Take the coffee to-go; take gulps. Second and third cups will be at the office. Grab a granola bar for the road. Back out of the driveway well before the sun begins to brighten up the night sky.

Afternoon

Childcare hours are so short. The adjusted work schedule after baby to accommodate the two-thirty pick-up times is hard to get used to. Thank you, husband, for being flexible and taking care of drop-off so a much needed two and a half hours can be added to the morning. Wrap up projects; hit save. Race to the preschool. Baby is crying again. Avoid the stares in the parking lot–they know how it is, right? Toddler wants to go to the playground before heading home. Throw on the nursing cover and feed baby while checking email. Baby falls back asleep, and now toddler wants engagement from mommy. Try to breathe deep, slow down. Push the toddler on the swing. Turn the phone on silent. Listen to what she says. Remember that sweet voice and those innocent words. Soak it up. Just finish the work later tonight.

Evening

Wear baby in the wrap while cooking because he refuses to be put down. Toddler is making a mess of her crayons; Paw Patrol plays in the background. Tried and true recipe for dinner tonight–no time for new things. Dryer buzzes for the fourth time. Wet clothes in the wash, too. Oven beeps, ready to start cooking. Veggies still need to be chopped. Baby is fussing; where is his pacifier? Or is he actually hungry… again? Husband is almost home. If things go right, we might all be in bed by 9pm. Toddler doesn’t cooperate. She won’t finish her dinner. She doesn’t want her hair washed. She doesn’t want help brushing her teeth {and needs it}. She wants the pajamas that are in the laundry hamper. She can’t find her favorite toy. She needs sixteen books, and a mommy story. She needs to sleep in mommy and daddy’s bed. She has a meltdown that can’t be muted within the walls of a small house. It wakes up the baby. He needs to be fed. And he needs a diaper change. He pees on himself; now he needs a bath. Toddler still isn’t asleep an hour later. Baby is fussing off and on. Husband cleans the dishes. Lunches get packed. Clothes get laid out. Laundry moves to the next stage. Set coffee to brew on auto in the morning. Bounce baby intermittently. Sit down on the couch; cue Netflix. Open laptop and pick up where two o’clock this afternoon left off.

Night time

11:30 PM, eyes are taking longer blinks. Body is begging to give in to the couch cushions calling it sink in. Don’t fall asleep here; it never fully satisfies, does it? Just go to bed. Brush teeth. Wash face–or skip it and make the morning easier. Crash land on the mattress. Set the alarm, only five and a half hours from now. Extra coffee tomorrow. Pray the baby sleeps in longer stretches. He has a rough night. Again. The toddler climbs in bed at 2 AM. Again. The alarm goes off. Again.

This is our rhythm. This is our season. Compound sentences are hard to form these days. Rest is hard to come by these days. Joy is hard to embrace these days. Patience is hard to embody these days. But I can’t forget that these days… these are the days. The ones we’ll talk about years from now; the ones with all the funny stories. The ones that smell like coffee, and diaper cream, and spit-up, and baby shampoo. The ones that sound like baby cries, and toddler melt-downs, and belly laughs, and the Paw Patrol theme song. The ones that look like dark under-eye circles, and blouses splotched with breastmilk, and bows in blonde hair, and blue baby eyes. The ones that are making us, us.

These days are crazy. This season is one of the hardest. But it’s the four of us, finally. And what a life we have together.

 


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