It has been raining, hard, all day long.
DD is asleep, napping away, and I sense her impending wake- the thud and couple odd off-balance footfalls, the cursory attempt at opening the door (really just a jiggle of the door knob), and the oh-so-predictable fuss: "Maaaaama!! Maaaaaahh...ma....", ending in a hoarse unhappy groan.
And I'll go in and lay with her, cuddle her, stroke her hair and tell her I love her. We'll get up, play, dance, talk.
But I'll admit, I cling to these last few moments of self-time. Even though I've had two hours of them, and mostly I didn't do much: swept the floor, organized laundry, ate a lot of bread, and (here's the main truth) surfed the internet.
There's nothing wrong, specifically, with any of these things. (Okay, maybe the excessive carbo-binge is a bit on the 'wrong' side.) But I know, as I linger at the keyboard under a false pretense of importance, that I could do so much better for myself, for us.
I could be meditating. I have a new Mariane Williamson meditation CD that I've been meaning to devote some quiet time to.
I could have been writing, and not reading someone else's writing.
I could have been sitting- just sitting, quietly and with myself.
All of these would have been whole heartedly better than what I do, and what I've done during naptime for a long, long time- naptime, my beloved naptime, my only break from the day until bedtime- eat and surf the Web, with the occassional cleaning spurt thrown in for good measure.
Pretty sad, huh?
I tell myself it's Me time, but truly, I am not being respectful, mindful, of what Me-time would best consist of. I am not honoring the time and allowing it to blossom, within and around me.
It's a lie I tell myself, that what I 'need', what I 'deserve', is to stuff myself with unhealthy foods or overeat, and spend two hours sitting in a chair staring at a screen.
And in lying to myself this way, I am giving root to the falacy that my day with my child, my relationship with my child, my child, is something I need to escape from, something to seek respite from, something to avoid.
My daughter is what I love most in this world, what I believe in most, what I care for most. Her needs, her interests, her growth, her development, and all that is best about motherhood, childhood, life... she is my love. My life.
(And don't think I'm suggesting that mothers, that I, don't need a break and an oppertunity to recharge batteries and have time spent away from the very exhausting experience of mothering; I spent two hours last night trying on clothes, and eventually, a rare $50 bill on half a Spring wardrobe- I am certaintly not denying the wonder of childless time, when it's desired.)
But I need to be honest with myself. My time with my daughter is not a hardship- it is a gift. I know this, I feel this, but somehow I have lost touch with this truth in my living.
Somehow I've convinced myself that my daughter is what sucks energy from me, and that I need time alone to ignore the signals my body and my true desires.
The truth is much closer to the opposite of that statement- living in ignorance of my true Self sucks the energy from me, and coming back to Love- choosing to be Here, with my daughter in this moment, every moment, is what I really 'need' and 'deserve'.
Here's to the end of Naptime.