Sunlight and shadows dance through the blinds, bouncing back and forth to an unpredictable rhythm. The baby watches in wonder from his playmat. He holds his toes in both hands and shapes himself into a half curl, a human roly-poly bug. He laughs and shrieks with delight. At four months, he is easy to please.
In the meantime, I find myself hooked on the screen checking for new communication, pictures and messages. I feel a void when nothing comes through, an emptiness that I might be disappearing into the ether and reaffirmed when something does via the Ding of the i-phone. It’s the modern-day dinner bell in a world of people hungry for instant connection.
The baby doesn’t have a smart phone to bother with emails or texts. His parents are his best friends and he doesn’t wear pants most days. His life is simple and his joy is pure.
He fills up on milk and love and connects to the present with each breath. He reminds me to live and disconnect, what the world might look like to fresh eyes, and that I am enough in being his mother. Perhaps, we all could benefit from stripping away the complexities of adulthood, if only for a moment, and refocusing on the sunlight and shadows.
Life is all about balance. The best days will certainly be followed by the worst days, and vice versa. Perhaps it’s all to keep one’s perspective fresh on what makes days good, better, and best. Maybe even to keep the attitude of gratitude alive and well. In any case, this was one of those perspective re-freshening types of days.
It all started when I woke up today and realized the water heater pilot light had blown out. I sensed that the rest of the day would follow in suit. I grimaced to think of the miserable shower in my immediate future and appreciated all of the other days of hot water. This appreciation was heightened when hypothermia inducing water started to flow from the shower head. I ended up late to work, as I had spent too long trying to bring my body temp back up to the 90’s, only after slamming the car door on my shin as I had rushed to leave.
Fortunately, I missed a very important meeting which involved the planning for a Christmas village made out of the cubicles in the office. My heart was not broken over this loss.
The day went on like that, teeter-tottering back and forth with strange events that never happen otherwise, unless the order of the Universe demands to be restored. Things like my newly fixed car window deciding to slide down on its own when I just paid for it to stop all independent decision-making and having a run-in with my supervisor.
I knew I had been too joyful, too optimistic, and filled with a sense of meaning.
It was the dropping of the other shoe, something I was certain would happen. It was only a matter of time, said the sometimes-pessimist who takes over these old puny bones from time to time.
Tomorrow, I hope to return to a world of balance with a warm shower, punctuality, and friendlier people.