Some Things are Still the Same

I often find myself thinking about what unique things our girls are experiencing by living in Mexico. Culture, language, even TV programs - so many aspects that will shape them as they grow up. I wonder how they'll remember their time in Mexico and the reflections they'll have of our life here.

But really, there are parts of our day that are similar to many other young families. I feed the girls, care for them, we play games together, they sprint for Mike when he comes home...

Here's an essay that shows we're still experiencing many of the typical emotions that parents with small children feel. I penned it just as Noelle was turning a year old.

Slowing Down

It’s my favorite time of the day. I turn the lights off and start pacing the length of the bedroom. When I reach the wall of the far side, I turn and head back. I’ll repeat this for the next 20 minutes. My mission: put Noelle to sleep.

She’s sprawled in my arms, chubby legs dangling off to one side. Little hands grip her last bottle of the day. In the semi-darkness, I can make out two grey eyes looking at me. I start singing, and the sucking slows to a leisurely rate. The eyes settle into a contented, droopy stare. She knows what time this is. I like to think it’s her favorite too.

Since Noelle’s birth a year ago, I have walked her (she’s a walker, not a rocker) to sleep nearly every night. Her six-pound frame once nestled easily on one arm. Now at 20 pounds, she spills over both of my arms and when she stretches, I have to juggle her weight to regain my balance.

But still we walk. Every night. At five minutes in, Noelle’s eyes begin their final descent. Ten minutes and they’re at half-mast. She finishes the bottle and flings it - in her signature style - away from her mouth. It sails across the room and drops.

When Noelle's awake, she’s on the go, and I spend most of the day chasing her, fishing things out of her mouth, picking up her messes, making more messes with her, and then repeating the cycle. Days with a two-year-old and a one-year-old can start out sunny, turn cloudy, pour, and then clear up again – and that’s before the first Baby Einstein video is even put in.

As for the rainbow after the storm – it always comes in the evening, when I’m pacing with Noelle. The orange scent of her baby bath wafts through the air as we move. I pull her up against me. She snuggles on to my chest, her head on my shoulder, arms resting between her tummy and mine. Her little legs push back and forth as they relax. I keep walking. It’s almost done now.

Too soon she’ll want to be simply tucked in to bed at night. As I do now with Trinity, I’ll read to Noelle, tell her I love her, kiss her good night, and walk away. No more bottles, no more pacing, no soft breathing against my shoulder. No more trickle of drool down my arm as she passes into the world of dreams.

When older friends see me with the girls, they almost always feel compelled to remind me, “Enjoy them while you can. Before you know it, they’ll be gone.” While the cliched phrase drives me crazy (especially on days when Trinity’s tantrums outnumber her shoe size), I’ve already learned the truth behind it. Rather than the comments, I wish someone would hand me a pause button for life. Then I could enjoy those fleeting moments just a few minutes longer.

But time, in its cold-hearted way, keeps marching on. In defense, I’m working on slowing our life down for the moment. While I walk with Noelle, I block out the nagging, endless to-do list attached with motherhood. I tune out the other worries of the day. We simply walk.

When Noelle’s out, I gently place her in her crib. She startles, aware of the adjustment even though her eyes remain closed. Then she flips on to her side and settles in again. One more look, and I walk away and close the door. No matter what the highs and lows of the day were, it’s now over.

In an effort to fight against the ticking clock, I hold both girls every chance I get. When Trinity wakes up in the morning, she calls for me. Then she asks, “Mommy, want to snuggle?” Yes, I do. The dishes can wait. The floor can be swept later. Let’s snuggle.