Ezra has been falling asleep in my arms for nap these past few days, and again for bedtime last night. As I held him and could inhale his sweet baby smell, feel his soft baby skin, I thought "man, I hope I remember this". I'm sure I will, but there's so much dark twisty feelings in this season (damn those baby blues) -- I just don't want those things to be the ever present theme when I look back on this time. I want to remember the joy in holding Ezra in the bath and his sweet suckle at my breast. I want to remember these things so much more tangible than the awful mood swings and gut-twisting arguments Tyler and I have. (These arguments are 95% my fault, seriously.)
What I want to remember and want to feel are anxiety inducing in and of themselves. Today is the first day of the weekend. The weekends hold so much promise. The past two, by Sunday I am beaming from the joy of spending time with our family of four. We adventure, we relax, we reset, all together. The weekends feel sacred to me, especially Sunday since it's the only full day Tyler has off each week. As this weekend approaches I felt anxious at just the thought that I wouldn't savor every last damn minute of it. I requested that this morning be for me, that I could go to a coffee shop and write, just have some time to myself. Now I'm here, at a coffee house and I'm feeling mom-guilt for not wanting to just spend this one-on-one time with Ezra. I shouldn't write, I should hold my baby and be so in love with him. To which my insides respond "I AM!" I just need some time. Sheesh, how do we as mamas balance it all?