Isla won't actually STAY asleep. ha! Heavens no. (Does your nursing one-year-old sleep through the night? Really? Wow. I don't want to hear about it.) But until she's ready to nurse again, for a few hours, or one, I have this moment of glee. And panic. And weirdness. And I roll through a giant list in my mind of all the things that I could possibly do right then. The thought of a shower crosses my mind, but even that seems too productive when a moment of NOTHING is presenting itself to me. So I sit. On the couch. And enjoy my own brain. And I wonder what it will be like after I've grown out of the baby-stage of motherhood. I imagine having TWO children who I can tuck into bed with a kiss and a prayer, and close the door, and walk away easy as pie. But I also imagine, that as wonderful and sleep-filled as those days will be, I'll probably desperately miss running up the stairs at the first signs of her restlessness, pulling her sweet little body close to mine, and feeling her little hand run up and down my arm in comfort.
Truly motherhood feels like an endless pull between nostalgia and longing. For the tiny tiny babies of my past and the grown children of my future. I think about my tiny little Everett of Virginia, and my heart literally hurts with nostalgia. I mean, what IS that? Will this every go away!? No, right? This is going to be me again, two years from now, desperately missing my tiny, squishy, fitful-sleeping Isla.
Enjoy it. Enjoy it. Enjoy it.