You think a day is going to go one way and then your two-year-old projectile vomits all down your front and into your lap.
Those moments are out-of-body experiences. Because, as much as your mind might be freaking out about the partially digested hamburger that is slowly soaking into your capris, you hear yourself calmy soothing the hysterical baby who is freaking out in the way you wish you could.
“Look into my eyes, Micah,” I always tell him. Because if I can get him to look at me and away from his mess I have a shot at getting through to him.
“Don’t look down, just look at mommy. I’ll fix it.” It’s what mothers have been saying since time immemorial.
And then we do. We fix it. We forget about ourselves and fix someone else first.
It’s like a super power.
The ability to focus so intently on the well being of someone else that getting them cleaned up and calmed down takes precedence over everything else. Even ourselves.
The baby might redistribute your make up, wreak havoc on your schedule, obliterate more than one meal time, declare holy war on your wardrobe, end up canceling at least 50 percent of your social engagements, and grab a few fistfuls of hair while he’s at it – but he will also set you free.
Free from yourself.
Free from thinking there was nothing you needed to be set free from.
When your time, your sleep, your body, your personal space and your spouse all have to be shared you start to learn how self-centered you used to be. And if you’re like me, you secretely wish you still could be.
Until someone pukes directly into your lap. And your day takes an unexpected u-turn and a whole lot of yourself, your wants and plans are left behind in the dust.
That kind of about-turn? That’s progress.