A Good Excuse

UPDATED: Arrghhh! This post is driving me a crazy because it will not let me insert proper paragraph breaks. Arrghhh (again). I have a good excuse to not sweat this, but, yes, I’m still sweating it.

UPDATED (again): I sort of fixed it by manually putting in code. Very annoying. But there are bigger problems than this blawwwwggg (that’s how my husband says it because he finds the whole blogging thing humorous).

Here’s one from the archives. I’m so glad I have this “good excuse” named Thomas to love and to remind me that great joy can be found in the simplest of moments.

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The topic of extended breastfeeding (that is breastfeeding beyond one year) recently came up during a conversation with another mom. She asked me if I was getting tired of nursing my almost 14-month-old so much.

“Not at all,” I told her. “It’s the only quiet time I have during the day.”

I’m one of those moms who has always enjoyed nursing and has had no real problems other than making too much milk, and lately I value my little one’s noshing sessions even more because they serve as mini retreats. While I oftentimes nurse on the go or when we’re in the midst of a craft, homeschooling, or story time, there are at least two times each day when Mary Elizabeth and I sneak away to withdraw into a cloistered calm together. My older girls know to quietly play while Mommy nurses their baby sister to sleep for her nap and in the evening for bedtime. During these hushed pockets in my noisy day filled with the energy of active, little girls, I often sit in a glider and gently rock my sweet baby as she nurses.

Sometimes I read a book or fiddle with my smartphone, but usually I just watch Mary Elizabeth. I notice the way she starts out looking at me until her eyelids begin to grow heavy with each suck. Her long lashes usually flutter one last time before her green-blue eyes vanish beneath her delicate eyelids. Her breathing slows, and I feel her tummy rise and fall against my own and notice that our inhales and exhales often become synchronized. I watch her tiny, perfect ear wiggle as she sucks, and I hear small gulps, which start out almost frantic and then slow with her breathing, as my body nourishes her. Sometimes she pulls off, and I wait to see if her lips will continue to suck satisfied with just the memory of my breast. (They usually do.) Her hand often holds onto the fabric of my shirt or her fingers tightly grasp my finger, and her strength always surprises me. I love her hands, their softness, the tiny dimples where knuckles will one day emerge.

I cherish these moments together when I discern the smallest of details, when there are no distractions, when it is just my child and me set apart from the world discovering our own world where we exist only for each other.

I wish there were more of these moments. My baby has grown up so quickly. She’s morphing into a feisty toddler with her own agenda. She often has to compete for my attention just as her older sisters do at times, but nursing together – this is all ours where we find each other in a closed circle, and I am nothing but a mother and she is nothing but my baby.

Lately I’ve been wondering when our next baby will come. I’m in no hurry. My body isn’t either. My cycle has not yet returned, and there are no signs that it’s on its way. A friend of mine who knew about my postpartum depression struggles long before I made the announcement in cyberspace called this fact grace. And I know she’s right. I needed some space, some grace to restore myself, to regain strength and energy and joy in the little things. Because most of my mothering life hinges on those little things.

Still, there’s a part of me that will always – no matter how exhausted or overwhelmed I may feel – long for a baby, a new beginning, a new narrative of hope that begins with conception. I also frequently find myself yearning for the secluded simplicity having a newborn brings to our home. When I have a newborn, I do little more than take care of my baby, myself, and my older children. We spend at least a month slowing our pace and finding a new rhythm. And I never feel guilty about how little I do outside of the home. With a newborn in our midst, I have a good excuse to say no to all of the outside distractions and requests. No to new freelance assignments. No to volunteer commitments. No to new blog posts. No to responding to every single email that finds its way to my inbox. No to tackling the entire heap of laundry in one day but yes to a few loads here and there. No to gourmet meals but yes to takeout or to something more simple like a fresh salad for dinner. No to any commitment or demand that takes me away from my baby or my family.

Yet, as I nursed my sweet soon-to-be toddler early this morning, I realized I don’t need a newborn to let me off the hook. Our family is entering a very busy season of our lives. I have a husband preparing for his oral boards who needs me around to offer support and to give our children extra attention in his absence. He will be starting a new job and a new chapter in his professional life in July. He needs me to be there for him. Easy-going, selfless man that he is, he won’t ever say he needs me, but I know I have the ability to make his life less stressful by seamlessly managing all of the domestic details, so he doesn’t have to. I want him to come home to a place of peace and order. Right now my evenings must be free, I’m there for him when he wants to talk or needs me to handle some small task so he can free his mind to tackle work responsibilities.We have a big move next month into a house that must be made into a home. There are walls to be splashed with color. Carpets to be ripped out. A little girls’ room to spruce up. Floors to polish. Boxes to be unpacked. A kitchen to organize. A yard (yes, our children’s first yard!) to manicure. A schoolroom to be pieced together since I have my first official year of homeschooling just around the corner as well.

I also have three little girls who need more of Mommy and less of that blogging-writing-cleaning-volunteering-leading-multitasking-lady. Oh, and I still do have that nursing baby of mine (whether she’s technically a toddler or not).

So, really, I have a perfectly good excuse to graciously say no to anything and everything that pulls me away from my vocation or zaps my precious stores of energy. It’s called a family.

I bet you have a good excuse, too. Start using it.

A Good Excuse

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