To Everything There is a Season

Remember how, just after giving birth, you have to figure out who you are all over again? Even if it's your second or third (or fourth) child, there's still that hazy period of redefinement, because there is this whole new human being in your life. You may have figured out (at least partially) your role as mother to your other child or children, but now you are mother again to a totally different person and it inevitably means something new for you.

I think that's why I've always wallowed a bit in that "fourth trimester." I don't jump back into any schedule, not quick to return to an exercise routine, I sorta fly by the wakings and eatings of the new kid. Sniff em out. No, literally, sniff them out. As that baby sleeps on my chest I may wonder if I should do something else, but ultimately don't because what is more wonderful than a sleeping baby on your chest with a sweet-as-a-lilly scalp? Eventually--this can be days for some, weeks for others (months for me)--you become grounded in the new normal, which may or may not include more sleep. You become familiar with the new set of expectations and feel a pull to gather up the who, what, why, where and when of your life (or any of that you feel worth holding onto). It's all still there, on the back burner, waiting for you, thank goodness.

In a strange way I'm feeling just like that after moving into our new home. Even though I physically know where I am, unconsciously I feel a little disoriented. And moving into this new home has required so much of my attention and, like a newborn, I want to devote my attention to it. I want to settle in and get to know all the nooks, crannies and smells. I want to hang pictures in just the right place; I can't help but stop and gaze out the windows; I'm learning what it means to have a propane tank; which windows and doors need weather proofing; that I may encounter a snake or frog in the house if a door is kept open too long.

Yes, there is plenty to do these days as I contemplate my new role in this new home. There is no schedule for me and I'm deftly aware that I have lost my grasp on the who, what, why, where, and when of my life. But in these waning days of summer, somehow it seems appropriate to flutter about aimlessly. That's how you come to spend the morning at the beach instead of writing the article due this week, or create a miniature fire pit for the playhouse in the backyard instead of go for a run, or sit a spell getting to know new neighbors instead of tackle the growing mound of laundry.

I can't help but think: "To everything there is a season; and a time to every purpose under heaven."

As I write that one of my 7-year-olds has climbed into my lap to snuggle. And that is a perfect use of my time.