Momming, Because I Can

Odds are this post will seem boring and irrelevant to you, the reader. To me however, it seems worthy of documentation. To me, although small, this moment right here, is significant. To me, it is everything.

It is 4:40 am. My husband would tell me to go back to bed, if he were not already there himself, in the harmonious act of what he insists is not snoring. After pumping at 3:30 am, I washed my pump parts and moseyed back in search of that soft, oh so alluring pillow of mine. I slipped under a blessedly heavy comforter, mentally high fiving myself for the upcoming two and a half hours of sleep in my future. (remember those high school days, when a 12 hrs. uninterrupted sleep cycle was the weekend norm? *Sigh) Just as I whispered to my pillow, 'I have returned to you, dear old fluffy friend,' the baby monitor broke-up our rendezvous with a fuss from daughter #2. 

Charlotte, who not to worry, we don't actually refer to numerically, was thinking 4 am seemed reasonable a time as any to awaken the world. Roosters do it, but they aren't allowed in city limits so the responsibility clearly falls upon her shoulders. I parted ways once again with that beloved cotton stuffed, head hugger, and journeyed, zombie style, to the nursery. 

Gathering Lottie into my arms and walking down our hallway, I noted a squishy bum. With minimal light, and consciousness mind you, I changed her diapy with an efficiency only gained by doing the task one billion times thus far in my parenting career. Cody may argue that stat., but he is still sleeping, as I previously mentioned, so he therefore forfeits his right to voice any opinions.

Little Miss Early Riser and I traversed the livingroom's current state of Lego madness, successfully avoiding the pain of Godzilla style crushing my son's Lego Ninjas. Again, to you this is all meaningless, but to me, this is a glorious milestone that I have overcome many a wounded arch to reach. 

Back in the nursery, rocking it out..or gliding it out technically, I made my ground breaking discovery: Baby girl's sleeves are too long! Our lovely Lottie recently developed a soothing habit of sucking her first two fingers, an act rendered impossible when your sleep sack is so inconveniently concealing your entire hand. She congratulated my attentive wisdom as I rolled back the oppressing flower-print sleeves. Fingers reunited with mouth and viola, princess clocked out. I curtsied; simply because there was no mic to drop.

Now my clock says 5:08am. Does that mean anything to you? No. To me, this means that I still have an hour and a half to sleep! Hip hip hooray! Cody would argue documenting this moment was a foolish cut into that window, but then again, I already revoked his say-so. Why is a standard moment of motherhood so dear to my heart?

Truth is, the abilities to comfort and aid my daughter, however trivial the circumstance, are monumental. Amidst all the ways I am not able to remove her from pain, resolve her daily struggle for energy and breath, and avoid her upcoming surgeries, it is uplifting and gratifying to help her in any minor way, such as relocating those tasty fingers. This morning, I was privileged to sit in that glider and feel the weight of a dry bummed, rollie armed, precious baby girl against my chest. Her heartbeat pulsed, beating into my own the reminder of how grateful I am to be hers. She dreams, happy, cozy, knowing she is loved, and I tenderly cradle the gift of now; because I can.