The jogger, the Westin, baby Ty and me

We welcomed Ty David into the world 2 1/2 weeks ago. He is healthy, sweet, and the spitting image of his dad.

I guess we are almost to the halfway point of the infamous first six weeks. Everyone keeps informing me things look much better after six weeks. As I recall from previous experience, I did feel at least like a human being around six weeks, and pretty much back to my old self around 3 months.

The real challenge of this time, I think – aside from the other notable challenges of: nursing while cutting oranges, not killing your spouse during stressful 2am wakeup calls, and somehow assuring baby #1 that baby #2 is a) here to stay, b) not as durable as stuffed animals, and c) not a threat to his lifelong peace, prosperity and happiness – the real challenge is not wishing away this time.

I’ll be honest. My most passionate desire right now is to book reservations at the Westin for the three-month milestone and make a large poster board calendar with smiley-face stickers to tick away every long chaotic day that passes, gritting my teeth at the blur in between.

I do think the reservations are a good idea. But there’s something askew about the thinking. This dawned on me last Tuesday. There was a jogger. She was jogging my route, passing my trees. She was wearing my jacket. She was listening to my ipod. I had the boys in the back but every bone in my body wanted to yank the car around, pull up next to her, and say, Enjoy this. Really. Enjoy it.

Would she have listened? I wouldn’t have.

Jogging Jessica of three years ago, lucky as she was, was worried. I worried about whether I was a good teacher. (I was.) I worried about whether it was right to keep dating Todd. (It was.) I stressed about all the projects that would never get done. (They did.) Frankly, I wasted time.

See, there are two kinds of perfectionists. There is the kind who always has her nails polished, laundry folded, thank-yous written, and sink cleaned. I wish I were her.

Unfortunately, I am type #2. I am realizing that I just can’t enjoy life if things aren’t perfect. It’s a horrible way to live, and not even have manicured nails to show for it. Perfection is a thief, and a liar. It tells me life this side of heaven should be easy, and it steals my happiness for today. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past 18 days (besides how to breastfeed while playing football…which is truly a notable accomplishment), it’s this: I desperately need to learn to enjoy the moment, no matter how hard things are, were, or might be. Desperately. There is so much good in the world that I just miss out on.

I should be more like my husband. I asked him one time how he didn’t worry. He laughed and then got distracted by the solitaire game on his phone. Five minutes later I asked him seriously what his answer was, and he had forgotten the question. I think after three more promptings he said something about not being able to concentrate long enough to let anything stick in his mind too long. Not real helpful, Todd. 🙂

But that’s the goal. The baby is crying. I am tired. The toddler is bored, and disobeying. My husband is late. But I can enjoy! There is SO much to enjoy, and be thankful for! Find it, and focus on that!

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things!”

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