Last night, the kids went to bed by 8:30. Yes, that was a plural: KidS. For the first time in recent memory, Christian and I had the chance to sit down—together!—on the couch, turn off all the lights, and watch a movie. (Well, part of one, anyway.) I reveled in the sensation of reclining in my husband’s arms with my head resting on his shoulder, having some time just to be lovers instead of parents. It was a perfect moment. How many of those do you get?
We went to bed at 9:50. The light hadn’t even gone off when Julianna began crying. That was how it went for the next hour: three minutes of crying every 20 minutes. Just when we would almost fall asleep, off she went again. We tried everything we could think of, beginning with Infant Tylenol and ending with the carseat. At 11p.m. I gave up and went downstairs with her, bracing myself for a night of stolen seconds of sleep.
The way the night went isn’t really the point (in case you’re curious, I ended up with probably 5 hours of sleep, in bits and pieces). The point is that the awful night came right after the perfect moment. And this reminded me of something I’ve noticed before: it’s as if the universe prepares us for the hard times by giving us a single beautiful moment—to fortify us for the journey, as it were. To show us what’s waiting on the other side. To let us know that the fight is worth fighting.
When I write it, it sounds very over-dramatized, but I think that the universe displays the same lessons and tendencies over and over again—sometimes in big ways, but more often in the everyday occurrences.
There is a spiritual dimension to this reflection, but I’m going to bypass it today. I didn’t intend for this page to become a religious blog, yet every entry seems to express some way in which the divine touches the ordinary.
Today, however, I am fuzzy-brained with a building cold bug and lack of sleep. I could spend all day revising this, but that wouldn’t be the best use of the baby’s nap time, now would it?
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1 comment:
Kate--
I don't know why it's taken me so long to find your blog, but when I finally got here I felt like I'd found another "kindred spirit"--good for you for finding the time to type, even one-handed, with a baby on your shoulder! (Mine are 2 and 4.5; I well remember those awful nights, and how absolutely special the moments of peace were--are--when they come.) (Don't worry, it really does get better. Probably not much comfort now, but it does.)
peace,
Jennifer
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