This post is part of a series called “Motherhood Mantras.” To read more about the series, and the full list of writers, click here.
I push my glasses up with the back of one hand as I breathe my hair out of my eyes. I’m sighing my way through this night. Swaying in place, I find my new, although quickly becoming familiar, rhythm.
The light of the moon slivers through sheer curtains. Outside’s darkness is mirrored within our home.
Kayli is curled onto my shoulder, my hands curving around her small frame. Sweet sleep is within fingertip’s reach. Her cheek presses deeper against me, her lips purse, and loosen around her pacifier.
I tense through my shoulders and arms and hands and heart.
She, of course, feels this and instantly wakes, arches her back, cranes her neck, widens her mouth. The pacifier falls to the floor, its tiny tumble a lone echo before her cries fill the space around me, making it small, tight, suffocating.
A single tear slides down my cheek, meeting Kayli’s own version of the same.
It’s just a small moment.
Two year old Chloe slides into my lap, she fits perfectly there. Her small legs dangle against mine as she leans into me. I soak in her skin’s warmth, her cotton skirt’s pinks, and her cocoa locks’ strawberry scent.
I wrap my arms around her toddler tummy. It’s delicious.
And for this one minute, we sit, puzzle pieced to each other.
It’s just a small moment.
Kayli and Chloe lay on their bellies, their bare feet crossed at the ankles. Brody is splayed on a blanket in front of them.
Chloe slides her fingers in and out of the blue knits while Brody’s tiny fists and toes sway in the space between them. The girls’ voices weave their own patterns around him, Twinkle Twinkle laced with giggles and the occasional, “My turn!” He watches them with the kind of awe reserved for younger siblings.
Laundry and dinner and the layer of dust revealed in the evening’s last rays tug at me. But I settle deeper into the green chair, pull the yellow fringed blanket over my toes, and breathe them in.
Because this too, is just a small moment.
Keeping that smallness at the front of my MindHeart is my motherhood mantra.
Every mothering moment – from the dark to the glowing – is so very small and so very fleeting. Sleepless nights and crying newborns are woven deeply with belly laughs and tiny fingers laced tightly with my own.
I can pick up the golden moments, place them in my HeartHand, and enjoy them.
And as for those dim ones that we all have – they, too are small and fleeting and passing. Strand by strand, we weave our motherhood story, one small moment at a time.
Galit Breen is a Minnesotan author, blogger, and mother. On any given day you can find her juggling three children, one husband, one puppy, and her laptop. Galit blogs at These Little Waves and tweets at GalitBreen.