A Day of Moments

Yesterday, when we woke up at 7 a.m., it was still dark outside. Finny was extra excited to use his flashlight and forbid me from turning on the lights in the family room. He shined his light out into the dark backyard and I asked him what he saw.
He reached into his brain and pulled out, “Ummm, I think I see a beaver.”

***

Last night, I moved Charlie out of our bedroom and into the guest bedroom in hopes that we would both get a little more sleep. This morning he slept in an extra forty-five minutes. While I nursed him at 6:15 a.m., I had another one of those fleeting moments when I just melted at the touch of his soft baby cheek and the way his little head felt cradled in my hand. A moment he’ll never remember; a moment I will try desperately to never forget.

***

This morning I scurried around the house to get us up and out the door in yet another attempt to make it to the 9:30 a.m. Stroller Fit class. I got everyone dressed and fed, put the breakfast dishes away, and packed the diaper bag with snack and juice. I even gave Finny a good pep talk about behaving in the stroller. Then, Finny pooped. “Okay!” I exclaimed, relieved that he had gone without crying. “Let’s go change your diaper real quick and then we’ll go to Stroller Fit!”

As I pulled down his pant leg, I quickly realized that this poopy was a full-on mudslide, up his back and down his leg and all over everything. “Well,” I said with a sigh, “It looks like we might need a bath for this one.”

“This poopy needs to get in the bath, Mommy?”

“Well, not the poopy, Honey, but we need to clean you up in the bath.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“You know what I could use, Finny?”

“Huh, Mommy?”

“A glass of wine, Honey.”

“A glass of wine and a bath, Mommy?”

“Sounds perfect, Finn.”

***

Yesterday, after months of regular, strain-free pooping, Finny got constipated again. After three days without a bowel movement, the poor child was gripping my leg and crying in agony as he strained and strained in vain. I brought down Tissa and Blankie and laid him on the floor in front of Dora the Explorer and gave him a suppository. Then I cradled him in my arms like a baby while he screamed and wailed, “Mama! Mommy!” as he passed a rock-hard poopy. The whole experience was torture. There is nothing worse than feeling helpless while my child is in pain. Nothing worse.

***

This weekend Finny and I had a date. After an exhausting Friday where I played disciplinarian all day as he looked for every possible opportunity to cause trouble or make a mess, I was a little reluctant to take him with me to the gym, but as it turned out, it was just what we both needed—a little time for me to exercise and then a little time for me to give him my undivided attention. Later that day, the two of us went out into the yard with his new golf clubs and some practice balls. He was more interested in running than golfing so the two of us just chased each other in circles around the yard while he yelled, “Faster, Mommy! Faster!” Then, as I swung him up over my head, he noticed the half moon in the sky.

“Look, Mommy! There’s the moon.”

“You’re right, Finn. There it is. The old half moon.”

“Mommy, can I just sit on your lap and look at the moon?”

I looked at the wet grass and then looked back at his little face.

“Sure, Honey. Let’s sit down and look at the moon.”

***

My days right now are made up of lots of moments. Some are filled with poop, some with pain, some with exasperation, exhaustion, and hair-pulling frustration. But some are filled with a kind of quiet contentment that can only come from the feeling of my finger gripped tight within the palm of my nursing infant and some are filled with the pure joy of staring up at the moon with my little boy while the wet grass soaks my jeans.

My day is made up of moments. All of them are filled.