I too often cram too much into my Sundays. Normally not with activities. No, I cram it full of expectations, expectations of what must be completed before Monday. At the same time, I lament that I'm robbing Sunday of its heavenly and holy rest. Then when I don't get what I think must be done finished, I begin the week feeling completely behind which is not the way to start a week is it?
Yesterday was different. Beginning with a morning of being more familiar with the toilet and holding my mane back than I care for and continuing with an afternoon of queasiness, this Sunday was actually been quite lovely. There was no guilt in taking time to rest; my stomach wouldn't allow any semblance of it. Rest it was. I let myself take a three hour nap with my baby. We nursed. We nursed. And we nursed. I watched Conor sleeping, his lips and plump cheeks moving as if he were still nursing.
Soon he sat up straight with the perfect posture of an infant, gave a few drowsy blinks and then focused on me looking at him. A sleepy smile spread across his face with a simple glee in his eyes. Hey, Mom.
In the afternoon, I found three of us piled on one end of the couch. Chris had to go work on a school project. The sun pouring through the blinds painted stripes on us and on the couch. Conor was still in his pajamas, his eyebrow healing, his nose running a marathon, and Ryan was in his preferred potty training uniform of nothing. They were as they are, baby and toddler, squiggly and squirmy. Ryan pestered Conor; Conor rallied back.
I was laughing at myself earlier when I was alone and sick in our bed with the sounds of the morning carrying through the closed bedroom door. Conor's yelps and Ryan's announcement to Chris, "I have a good idea. Okay, Dad?" Chris will hear me complain, "I neeeeeeeeeeeeeed a break." With that in mind, it was puzzling and humorous when I was getting a forced break from an upset stomach, I was lying their thinking about how they would be such good medicine. Well, as long as I didn't have to get up to care for them, of course. I just wanted some smiles and to hear, "You feel bettah, Mom?"
Back to the couch. Both had slipped their way out of afternoon naps; Conor because he had taken such a long one with me, and Ryan because he was quiet enough for quiet time to be almost as rejuvenating as nap time. Almost. They both normally would be pitching fits in this napless situation, but since I was giving them what they wanted, "wasted" time with Mom, they were content. One of Chris' professors told his class to not be so caught up in worrying about planned quality time with your children; rather, just be willing to waste time with them.
And so we did.
Conor kept looking like it was the greatest day since he first ate a grape. And his face. His round face. Oh, how his round, plump, chubby, pudgy face just does me in. I'm so his mother, huh? Ryan played with the rings on my left ring finger. "Mama, who gave you da rings?" "Hmmm, who gave them to me?" "Daddy gave them to you. Mom, you Dad's wife?" Conor was hungry for eye contact and songs. Ryan suggested, "Let's sing da Alma Mater!" He sang every word with me, and I started to cry because hello, my toddler was singing one of my favorite songs that brings back so many happy memories to my baby. The book I was reading might have also put me in the disposition to cry happy, wistful tears.
Thank you for your glory, restful yesterday. I am much more prepared for the short naps and the tantrums and the painted toilets only a potty-training parent would know of today.
In short, I need to mom up and let myself have our Sundays. It's not like I'm working on a world-saving project with a pressing deadline that won't allow for breaks in the budget. No, I'm raising my boys with my husband, and I realize that Sunday rest is an important part of that.
Also - I now realize that you shouldn't indulge in the ready-to-eat sandwiches at your local Asian market unless you eat them all the time. Whew.