Namaste

I inhaled deep the humid, steamy air and exhaled stress. Tears trickled down my cheeks onto the yoga mat beneath me. I let the darkness swallow me whole, praying for the Lord to give me strength and renew my energy. The lyrics swirling around the room couldn’t have been more true: “It’s been a long week. It’s been a long day.”

I bought a one month yoga Groupon and went to my first class last night. Wounded abdomen and wobbly legs, I balanced and stretched, manipulating my tired body. I needed this. Honestly, I felt guilty taking time to myself, leaving Joey alone with the kids. But I needed this.

This is not me. This is a stock photo. But if I had awkwardly asked the person the mat in front of me to take my picture while in child's pose, this is what I would have looked like. If my hair were blonder. And the lights were on...

This is not me. This is a stock photo. But if I had awkwardly asked the person on the mat in front of me to take my picture while in child’s pose, this is what I would have looked like. If my hair were blonder. And the lights were on…

After my Hear Her Roar post, Joey came home last Sunday afternoon with a fever and chills. He was miserable, and diagnosed with strep the next day. His 102 degree body went to bed for two whole days. And I went into survival mode. I thought many times about single moms and stay-at-home moms. It blows my mind how they keep their cool and raise decent human beings. I applaud them.

There’s something inherently disturbing about a baby crying. It begs rescue.

Paisley is irritable most times she’s awake. We’re working on it. We’ve tried all kinds of tablets and drops and acid reflux meds. She may just have colic. She may have a dairy intolerance. She hates to be set down. She’s gassy. She’s a girl.

I want so badly to rescue her, but I’m helpless. It feels awful to not be able to satiate my baby. Although it took effort at times, Joey and I could always find a way to pacify Finn. But sometimes (for hours) I can’t do or find anything to make Paisley happy. Last night I tried for an hour and a half; used every trick in my book.

Rare, sweet moments.

Rare, sweet moments.

My confidence is broken. I just want my girl to be happy. I want to fix it. Oh, it could be much worse. There are bigger problems than a crying baby. This, too, shall pass.

Yesterday, I released the expectations I have for myself as a mom into the steamy yoga studio. I breathed deep, renewing some feeble strength. I bowed my head with pretzel legs. Hands to heart.  Namaste: “The divine in me bows to the divine in you.” Namaste. Holy Spirit, fill me.

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3 thoughts on “Namaste

  1. My pulse quickens reading this – remembering the mounting frustration and anxiety of coaxing a fussy baby. When “shhh” becomes less of a soothe and more of a harsh command. I am so sorry, and I wish I could walk with you to Starbucks. For what it’s worth, you have a lot of supporters rallying alongside of you. This now SAHM with an overly working husband (his words, not mine!) appreciates your nod. And I am intimidated like crazy but hoping just the same for God to bless with baby #2. Stay strong, Power Mom.

  2. Pingback: Transition | our invincible summers

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