Paint on my hands

It's 8.30am, I'm still in my pajamas, haven't had breakfast, and while Nahlia's happy playing in her rocker, I'm painting.  It's not the usual time of day that I would do this, but I've been wanting to do some more on it for some time now, so I took the small window of 'free' time and got my hands wet!

It's not the usual way I would do things, either.  Normally I would do some task or other until it's finished or at least to a certain recognisable level of completion.  But I'm learning the new rhythm of life that motherhood sets for me.... letting her needs take priority over my desires.  [My needs must be met almost in sync with hers, for if I do not take care of myself, then I cannot take care of her either.]

I used to focus on the day that Nahlia won't have colic; the day that she will sleep by herself for long periods of time during the day; going to sleep and waking up without crying. I used to long for the day when things would be easier with her so I could get on with my life and do whatever I want, whenever I want.  How sad, but I'm being honest here.  But instead of waiting for her to grow out of her colic, I find myself growing into it.  That is, I'm growing in how I respond to her when she is obviously upset because of her tummy.  I am accepting that this is how it is for us - for her - and adapting my 'schedule', my outlook, my priorities, my everything, so that I can care for her in the most loving way - the way that she needs me to.  I'm growing and becoming the mother she needs me to be for her.  And loving her is what gives my life meaning - it makes everything else make sense.

So my painting is happening slowly, one stroke, one layer at a time... the way that anything that is done with love should.

It's 8.50am; Nahlia is asleep on me; I'm looking at the paint on my hand; and I'm smiling.