A jar of baby food fell and shattered on the floor.
I wanted to prep dinner but the baby needed holding.
The baby bit me so hard I wanted to cry.
The clock seemed to be taunting me with the slow passage of time until daddy walked through the door.
So out the door we went. Out to the front stoop for bubbles and blankets and my favorite time of day for light.
Suddenly, we were all ok.
The baby ate dirt. The toddler blew bubbles. Mama took pictures and breathed in the fresh air, letting go of prepped-dinner, clean-house expectations.
One of the hardest lessons of motherhood is flexibility and letting go of how I want things to be. Sometimes I hold on with all my might to my own image of how things should be- tidy house, dinner on the table when Chris gets home- to the detriment of everyone involved. I will force it and leave everyone in my tracks, including myself, grumpy and foul tempered.
But other times, like tonight, I can turn on some music, open the front door and know that those things don't actually matter. I'm not foolish enough to think that I conquered anything tonight, but I am learning that it helps to take note of small victories in this battle riddled journey of motherhood.