A few sentences of a blog post written.
A half folded pile of laundry (likely unfolded by helpful little hands by now).
A dish and two spoons washed.
The floor swept, but then someone cried and the pile was forgotten. Tiny toddler toes have since trampled it though, so you’d never know.
A tantrum quelled.
Baby food made but thrown away after just a few bites were consumed. Why won’t this baby eat???
The art supplies made it out of the closet, but everyone was distracted before any creativity occurred.
Several pages of a book were read before the baby began to cry.
Throw the white flag of surrender and attempt a nap. Maybe if I get a little sleep I’ll find my patience. Then the baby wakes up and sleep is added to the list of today’s failures.
Another tantrum quelled.
A fight broken up.
The baby is put to the breast every time she makes a sound, and still, her weight gain slogs along at a snail’s pace. Fit in another weight check into the schedule. Find a babysitter or drag the circus along. Progress remains slow.
Manage a trip to the store. Forget half the list.
Another tantrum quelled.
A life lived in fits and starts. Always beginning. Never finishing. Rarely accomplishing anything visible.
Then a smile.
The baby’s face lights up with indescribable delight at the sight of you.
A conversation overheard: “You my brother, I help you always,” three-year-old syntax rendering the sentiment even more endearing.
A sleepy head rests on your chest, you are his sanctuary.
Quick glances for reassurance, and with your tiny nod and smile, confidence is restored.
Artwork eventually makes it up on walls.
A chubby hand sneaks its way into a shirt, seeking out comfort remembered from his earliest days.
Cooing turns into babbling. Fighting makes room for occasional cooperation.
Tantrums are still quelled.
But the oldest suddenly knows his letters. He can sound out words. Progress feels fast.
Spiky peach fuzz turns into silky, slippery hair, which just as quickly thickens and darkens. Limbs stretch out and baby rolls melt away. Where is time going? We wonder, predictably.
A life lived in fits and starts. But then again, I suppose the finish line was never actually the goal anyway.
I’ll take it.
