It's quiet right now...save for the hum of the baby monitor...and the occasional banging of wood from the workshop below as Remodel Man crafts posts for our front porch...and the soft laughter of Builder Boy and his friend playing Legos two rooms away. It's nice...
I've been dwelling on the idea of quiet a lot during the past six and a half weeks since my daughter was born. It started out when I realized that when she and I are home alone, there is often a lot of quiet during her awake times. When Builder Boy was an infant, I talked to him nonstop. I was nervous and worried that I was doing everything wrong, so I read parenting books and heeded their advice to just talk as you go about your daily routine. So talk I did. Constantly. (At nine years old now, guess what Builder Boy does? Yep, talks. Constantly!) This time around, I'm okay to let their be silence in our days. She actually seems to relish this quiet time. She kicks her legs and checks out her surroundings. Often I find her smiling.
This quiet started at the hospital. I was tired of having been pregnant and tired from delivery. We were often alone (Did this happen with everyone's second child? No one really came to visit in the hospital...it was weird and I tried not to be offended by it.) and during this alone time, we would sit quietly, gazing on one another. When I took my first shower post-delivery, I remember what a friend said about how lonely she felt in that first shower. All of a sudden, after nine months of always having "someone" with you, here you are, alone. I felt that loneliness, although I willed myself to not dwell on it. Hyper-aware of postpartum depression, I didn't want to think about such a sad thought, yet it would creep in during other showers.
Once home, pensive quiet would continue. I would find the slippers I took to the hospital, the booties she wore, or event he spritz bottle for my sore girl parts-and in those moments, I was intensely aware of the silence. I was watching to see if I was slipping into a depression, once again willing myself not to feel the intense sadness I encountered the first time around. Thankfully, almost seven weeks later, I have not sunk into that horrible pit of postpartum depression and I thank the Lord daily for this.
This time around, when I find myself pensive, thinking on the moments that can cause intense sadness, the falling off of the umbilical cord, the packing away already of newborn clothes, the awareness of how fast she is already growing and how much better she fits into her car seat, instead of reprimanding myself how I am wasting valuable time, missing precious moments, this time, I just enjoy. I enjoy the momentary wistfulness of the passage of time. I allow myself to experience the bittersweet. This time around, I know that even with the passing of time, from newborn to toddler to preschooler to grade schooler, new and exciting experiences await her-and I get to watch.
The quiet has taught me so much this time. So has experience. So has the fact that she is a content baby. Or maybe the fact that she is so content stems from my peacefulness. Who knows? All I know is this...I am enjoying the quiet.