Always Rushing

Since having a baby I feel like I’m constantly rushing through everything.

Rushing through dinner so I can nurse him before he gets too fussy. Rushing to get in bed because I don’t know how long I’ll get to sleep before he wakes up. Rushing home from work so I can spend time with him. Rushing to get ready in the morning before he needs me and it starts all over again. Rushing. Rushing. Rushing.

By the time I finally lay my head down for the night I don’t even know what happened. It’s all a blur.

The weekends are a little better. At least then I get to be with him all the time and I don’t feel like I need to play, and teach, and nurse, and read, again and again and again and make sure I’m doing everything I can to help him learn and grow and make him love me even though he’s not with me as much as he should be. Oh wait, that’s exactly how I feel.

And maybe that’s just it. Maybe I feel like I’m constantly trying to make up for lost time that I try to do it all and constantly worry if I’m doing it all right.

He’s my baby boy. My entire world. I want him to know that. I want him to feel the same way about me.

He does. Doesn’t he? He will. Won’t he?

And now I can’t wait for him to run to me and hug me and say “I love you, mommy!” so that I know. While at the same time I’m saying “Stop stop stop! You are getting too big too soon!”

So while I rush and rush and rush through the days, I need to slow down and take it all in while I can.

It’s ok if he fusses for a moment longer, or wakes up an hour after I shut my eyes. If I get home a minute later it’s (sort of) ok, and if I don’t have time to dry my hair every morning, so what? I still have him here in front of me.

It’s these times, and all the time, that will pass by so fast. I’ll look back when I’m old and say “Wow, that was my life. Where did it all go?”

 

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