All We Can Do Is Keep Breathing

“You know, I’ve been “fine” for a long time now. Through a whole pregnancy and almost a year of a pandemic. I’ve been “fine.” Through the weirdest time we ever did see.

So this is today’s Daily Dose of Delightful. That I began yesterday with a lie-in with this kid.”

Sometimes, always, breathing is the only constant. And it’s funny; I find that to be terrifying and comforting. I’m not sure which one more; terrifying or comforting. And sure, it wasn’t the most delightful of my daily doses of delightful. Or maybe it was the most delightful because it was finding something to do or say when I’m most certainly not fine. I actually never intended to be someone who posts endless baby photos on Facebook – in fact, I study algorithms and metrics enough to know not to post too much. Then something happened one morning, when my heart exploded with breathtaking love for this little one. I couldn’t WAIT to share my thoughts, photos, and videos. Sometimes, I couldn’t sleep the night before because I couldn’t wait to post a status.

The fervor died down; it had to do so. I worried that maybe my endless baby posts were hurting the feelings of people trying to be parents; or who have lost children, maybe recently. Not to mention, I can be so tired and foggy – so down and disconnected. Sometimes, often, instead of working or writing when the kids are sleeping or in school, I sit and stare into space. Hard to pinpoint where my regular everyday anxiety intersects with postpartum anxiety and COVID anxiety. Maybe a touch of situational depression, postpartum depression, or COVID depression.

So, now there are Daily Doses of Delightful posts, and they’re not just of Baby Rider. They can be thoughts or photos or videos, of anything. Just one thing. And I realize that’s how I breathe – by finding and communicating these small and large miracles, adventures, and touches of deep living. I don’t take any of them lightly, of course, but they’re not all heady like the status above. It’s a mixed bag. Sometimes, when I look at Rider, I space out. And it could be because I’m tired, sure, and it could be because I’m having an existential crisis of looking at this baby and already seeing this time passing by – already seeing later versions. It can be hard to enjoy the NOW, when I’m spiraling ahead to the THEN. Even though the THEN – him growing (all of us growing) makes me happy too. Every day, I share one of these deep or funny, or deeply funny (funnily deep) thoughts. It only takes one of them, even if I have these thoughts/moments by the hour.

All I know is that I’m breathing, and all I know is that I keep breathing, heavy and hurried, or light and rhythmic, and it’s my way. This is my way. I’ve looked so long for that giant thing or action or poem or book or photograph that transcends my normality, and maybe my reality. I’ve always dreamed and thought BIG. Will I learn to fly? Will I be a household name? And if so, for doing what? How can I hold in all of this simmering and sometimes near-boiling power and passion? How do I translate it for you – written by heart and hand? And maybe it’s not one big thing, but a series of small and some seemingly meaningless moments. I let it out, by the daily dose, like a slow release of pressure. That’s all we are anyway; a series of small and big and never really meaningless moments. Des looking up at me from his sled, pink-cheeked and gorgeous.

Running into friends and sharing under-mask smiles and virtual hugs. Oh, to long for in-between days; ordinary days. You can show your strength every day, these days, even if you don’t feel like it’s there. It is. And you do show your character, every day, these days, breathing in those pure and breathtaking moments. Believing. For me, it’s baby laughs and big kid grins. They force that fresh air into my lungs so I can breathe, steady breathe, keep breathing. Dreaming.