Mindfulness
Mindfulness struck me spontaneously today. I'm on vacation this week with my parents, and we decided to visit a nearby park with the tiniest train you've ever seen that is available for rides. An elderly man was driving the engine, which is about as big as two large coolers, and single-file seats folded up behind him. For five dollars, I couldn't complain.
I sat in the first seat right behind the engineer, my son sat on the padded cushion right in front of me, and I folded my arms protectively around him. The little engine was rather loud on our 15 minute ride, and I put everything out of my mind except for the sights, sounds, and feeling around me. I felt his small tummy expanding as he breathed, and I could smell the fresh soap in his hair. His tiny hands reached up to rest on my arms, and he leaned into me, content and quiet.
Stopping to focus isn't as easy as I may have thought: I'm constantly multi-tasking. Focusing my thoughts seems about as easy as stopping a freight train, but today, my brain complied.
As we rode the train, it started to rain, and my mother and I started to laugh. It was a light, cool sprinkle; just a mist, really. As the rain picked up just a little more with the wind, the train picked up speed and got us back to the gift shop as the rain started coming down in earnest. As we walked briskly to the car, I held my son in my arms and made sure he was facing away from the direction of the rain. His arms and legs wrapped around me in trust and he didn't try to wiggle away, as he often does at this age. I wanted to stretch the seconds to keep this state of mindfulness a little longer
Tonight, as I listened to him recite from memory the books we have read so many times over and over, I listened to his voice and tried to memorize the exact tone. I watched his face as he turned the pages. I saw the look of pride and a quick smile when I told him what a great job he did.
He tried to tell me that he wasn't sleepy and didn't want to go to bed, and instead of enforcing bed time, I took an extra few minutes tonight to hold him in my arms and talk to him. "I'm not tired, mama!" he said several times. I spoke to him quietly and listened for any clues to why he is resisting bedtime so vehemently lately. I concluded that it's just toddler speak for "I'm having too much fun to waste time sleeping." I understand.
In just a few minutes, he fell asleep in my arms. I drank in the length of his eyelashes, the soft curve of his cheek, and the limbs that have grown so much in the last months. I ran my fingers through his thick hair and marveled at the joy this little boy brings me. I reveled in the knowledge that I have been given the greatest gift I can ever receive. He is, without question, a blessing.
With as many distractions I have in my life, finding mindfulness today brought me more peace and clarity than anything else I could have done. I struggle to let go of the things that take up too much of my time: worry, disorganization, and even social media. When someone I knew in high school posted a hurtful comment that a nanny is raising my son, I let it get to me. Those unnecessary words got under my skin and it erased some of the peaceful bubble of bliss I had built around me. I doubted myself.
And then, with the help of several friends who lifted me back up and helped me toughen up and dry my tears, I reminded myself of what is important: my son. My family. My friends. My life. Being mindful of the details of those who are most important to me are all who matter. My son's knowledge of the love I have for him is what is most important.
Mindfulness, like meditation, takes practice. Being on vacation and away from work responsibilities helps a great deal; I will remember to practice more when I'm back to the real world.
In the meantime, I will continue to revel in the love I have for my son. Mindful, as often as possible, of the incredible fortune my husband and I have that brought him into our lives.
I am also mindful that I have an easy life and one sweet child to love. I'm also thankful, as always, to have all that I have.
Love,
