I get this moment

My husband and I dated long distance until we were married, way back when. I remember vividly the emotional highs and lows as I anticipated our limited, precious time together. I am notoriously bad at being “in the moment.” All the days of the countdown, while I am sure I had responsibilities and commitments, were spent thinking only of our upcoming reunion. And likewise, tragically, all the days of our togetherness were shadowed in my mind of the upcoming separation.

I once (or twice, or like, eight times) tried to master “mindfulness.” But really, is it just torture? To lie still and bring your attention to your breathing? When there are millions of other things I could bring my mind to? My mind and body are often disconnected - just ask my husband how many times he has to repeat the last thing he said, because although I am definitely trying to pay attention, my mind has already left the station. Usually, I have some mastery over where my mind is, or at the very least some sense of where it’s going and where it’s been. But the truth is, in this particular season, it is quite on its own. Since 2020, I have been pregnant or breastfeeding, or weaning from breastfeeding, and now pregnant again. So, not to pass the blame entirely, but my mind - and indeed every cell in my body - has been drenched in some very serious hormones for quite some time.

The natural way I am wired - the helpful and unhelpful ways I have a tendency to think - are sent into extremes within this kind of environment. It’s the kind of hormonal storm that led to me sobbing in bed the other morning as I snuggled in close with my two-year-old boy. Thankfully, he slept through his mother’s little meltdown. Because, true to form, I wasn’t in the moment with him. I was imagining a day when he wouldn’t join me in bed in the morning; when he would run the other direction from a snuggle with his mama. Here he was in my arms and I was already grieving him gone.

Seriously. Send help.

And actually, help came.

My mind, on the precipice of making me completely tragic, shut out my human thinking for long enough for the Spirit to whisper.

You get this moment.

Those four words pierced through the hormones and my ragged mind with more power and precision than anything had before. Here you are, you get this moment.

Maybe (okay, definitely) I won’t get to be part of every moment of my son and baby-daughter-on-the-way’s life. There will be moments I miss. But, I get this one.

So, although the tears made it hard to focus, I let myself soak in my boy’s perfect, sleeping face. I felt his soft skin and the warmth radiating from him. I felt the gentle movement of his chest.

I got that moment. I got everything it offered me.

And since then, in each happy, mundane, smelly, funny, frustrating moment of our days, when I feel my mind take flight, I repeat those words like a mantra. I get this moment.

If they help you, use them, too. Let them be the weight you need to bring you back to this one precious moment. Let them be the lift you need to free you from a thought meant to sink you.

Suddenly, even in just a few days, very little is missed; every minute is counted.

I am a mother rich in moments!

Yes, life goes by so quickly, and little ones never stay little long enough. But, I get this moment. And that one, and another. Each and every moment I get is a precious gift, and they are gifts that come and go and don’t come back. So, I will do my best to unwrap them all.

I may miss some, but I get this one.