4:50 AM. That’s the price of a wake-up for the silent alone-time I need to make it through the day. So, gladly, I creep out of bed where Remi sleeps next to me, lay my blanket where I previously was so he doesn’t feel alone, and leave the room to the warm embrace of my first cup of coffee.
Dogs let out, back in again, and seeking my affection- I seat myself in an oversized chair ready to enter the Word of God.
Thats my norm, my sacred & treasured place.
That’s not this morning. As my alarm buzzed at it’s usual 4:50, I sat up alone.
Matt worked the weekend after the holiday, which is 24/7 on-call. For potential midnight wake ups he sleeps on the couch downstairs.
My silent space invaded, my alone time looks different from the coziness of my bed.
It reminds me. When we were first married, I could not imagine a night spent in different locations, or even going to bed at different times. To me, our sleep schedules signified unity, realigning ourselves to one another before the next day begins (this was before children).
Then we had Aiden. She slept in our bed till 18 months, easily. And when she moved to her own space, again we realigned before the next day dawned.
Then we had Remi. And my idea of what I am capable of changed. I reached a new level of tired I was unaware existed. And, as any mom will tell you, I suddenly felt like I was only able to give each of my children who had 100% in my heart about 70% of my individual attention.
They both need it. I crave to provide it for them. But life. Life is not neatly scheduled.
For those of you with more than two children, I salute you. Perhaps someday I’ll reach that desire, but for now I’m still finding my footing most days.
Anyway. More tired. Attention split. All of a sudden I am no longer threatened by a night spent in separate places (Hear night, not habitual nights). As parents, we make sacrifices to survive. This is one of them. We would rather sleep in separate places than neither get sleep and risk an incredibly tired one year old for the following morning.
I think one of my favorite things about marriage is the ability to grow alongside one another. The way vines train up a trellis. They may diverge from one another in some ways, but healthy vines are attached, moving upward with the same purpose, and don’t grow in opposite directions. I love my husband for his heart, his humor, and our shared perspective on life and the ways to raise our children.
In this moment, I am grateful for the ability to see where adjustments are needed, adapt and continue.
I see the same theology in our nutrition. We have places of solitude and quiet where we can be productive and intentional. Then there are the attention-grabbers that only get 70% of our attention when we feel they deserve 100%. Then there are the constants that we are unwilling to waver on because they keep us grounded and moving forward.
Let’s step back, seek perspective, and see where we can adjust and adapt so that we might be capable of doing more than just survive.