The first week of school has now finished. It’s a big week, with establishing routines and readjusting everyone’s sleep schedule, including my own.
I took a giant nap this afternoon before the bus delivered Charlie and Jack home. The kind of nap where it takes you a good fifteen minutes to fully drag yourself back awake, and where you hair is smashed and weird, and your mind muddled. It felt great.
And then–Sodalicious. We can celebrate that it’s Friday and school’s back in session.
I’m contemplating change, of late.
I used to seek change, because any change had to be easier to cope with than the current reality of toddler Jack or young Jack despising baby Charlie, or having a premature baby with two middle brothers going off the rails. Anything was better. I prayed and yearned for change.
It did change, but it took time.
Whenever I hear a mom say she laments her newborn growing out of the newborn phase, I realize how different my parenting experience has been. My babies screamed. Their anxiety and sensory integration issues translated into perma-screams as our ambient noise. If they weren’t screaming, it was because I was a one-(wo)man band juggling balls with my left hand while playing a harmonica and kicking a big bass drum with my feet. While attempting to feed the hungry screamer with my right hand.
I kept the wailing at bay with nonstop motion and constant sensory input. This is why I don’t relate to people who are sad when their babies get bigger. When my babies got bigger, we were a step closer to happiness, independence, and the ability to process and tolerate the world.
So I like change. I welcome it. I have enough optimism left in me to feel that there is the potential for good in all change. It may be painful at first, but it opens new avenues. We may proceed in the direction God is pointing us, toward something new. Something better.