diminutive
I am getting better at saying, I would like to go out and buy those shoes, but maybe tomorrow.
I am good these days at recognizing that if I go to the grocery store with a long shopping list and then the baby starts to cry, well he’s probably hungry and I should abandon my groceries and head back to the car so no one sees me trying to figure out a silicone nipple shield. The boy can turn in a blink from smiling to storming. I am just going to go out to get some bananas, I tell myself, hiding from myself my very long list. Then if the bananas are in my cart and he’s still hanging out, staring at the fluorescent lights, then maybe I’ll just try to get some apples, too. So far this system has worked to get me out of the house.
I think often of a Simone Weil quote my friend added to her online studio index recently: Absolute unmixed attention is prayer.
My full attention, staying in each moment. It makes these days small. I surrender to one thing at a time. I watch my baby eat, and watch and watch. It calms me. This is a phase where nothing gets done. I lately love the feeling inside myself of feeling attached to something and then cutting it loose. I want to write here more, but it is often nearly impossible to both remember what I want to write inside this hormone-riddled brain and to find the time when I have two hands to do so. I cut this string and that string, watching what I had thought the day would hold float away. I feel my breathing calm, my ability to stay in the moment widen. A baby is here.
