My baby, my teacher

I really have to hand it to people with depression who still manage to function. This afternoon I didn't want to do anything. That is incredibly strange for me, because I usually want to do a few hundred things. Maybe because Nathanael woke me up three times last night and would not be soothed unless I nursed him, and I thought we were over this. Maybe because I had to get up early this morning and deal with vehicle stress, that makes me also stress about the bank balance. (Pickup's bit the dust, Old Blue is blowing smoke, and the Murano had a flat, prompting the serviceman to urge me that I really need to replace all four tires.) Maybe because of a message I got from someone about hurt sustained from people we both trusted and respected. Maybe because I felt guilty about falling asleep this afternoon and thereby preventing my husband from going to bed when he needed to.

I decided to put Nathanael in his "exersaucer" and pray. I prayed for a while, not much more spiritual than, "God, I feel bad and don't want to." Then baby let me know he was done with the exersaucer, so I put him on the floor with me to play with toys. Watching my seven-month-old was like watching my own soul.

He would reach for a toy and play with it a while (mouthing it of course), and then unintentionally push it out of his reach. Then he'd push up on his hands and knees, and rock back and forth, and then get frustrated that he wasn't going anywhere. But then something would make noise, and so he'd turn to his new diversion. But after a while, he decided he wanted Mama, and so again got up on his hands and knees and tried to come toward me. This time he was on his way to a meltdown. "I know, son," I told him. "It took a long time for you to build up the strength to push up like this, and it's taking a while to coordinate those little limbs. But you'll get there soon." Of course he didn't understand, so his face just kept turning red and his volume kept going up until I took him and pulled him close to me to nurse. Then he relaxed, snuggled, and nursed to sleep.

I spend a lot of the day frustrated. How is it the laundry hamper is overflowing again, the sink is still not fixed, the bathroom needs cleaning again, I've got 30 emails to answer, and we've gone over budget again? Do I stink that bad at "adulting"? Then when I read something like The Practice of the Presence of God, then I really feel like a drooling baby being told I'm meant to walk on water when I can't seem to even reach the thing right in front of me or say one sentence.

Watching my baby reminded me again that our seemingly endless annoyances and setbacks are just part of the process. I don't know why we can't just learn the first time, but God doesn't judge by my "want to do it NOW" standards, but like a parent watching his child learn. And though I get so frustrated that I can't seem to reach Him, He will bring me up to Him to receive my daily Bread if only I'll relax and let Him.

Thank You, Lord.