There are palm trees outside of my bedroom window. They’re young and have few branches. Some are close and some are far, but they all stand tall enough to see no matter their distance. On this night, after Zion’s first feeding, I looked out my window and saw the palm trees fading in the dark. It looked as if they were drawn on a piece of paper with a pencil, and like the artist had smeared their outlines. It was a mysteriously wondrous sight.
Exclusively breastfeeding is exhausting, but this is one of the beautiful parts of being forced to wake up at odd hours of the night. Without knowing it, Zion provides me the opportunity to pause and observe the changing night, much like the day. Her need to be nurtured forces me to slow down and enjoy my surroundings. She encourages me to find beauty in more than just her perfect little face.
The mysterious palm trees in the midst of heavy fog made me look out again to soak in the eeriness of the night. All looked still. Time looked frozen. The night invoked a feeling of peace. I released my hopes for my future into the universe.
I hope and pray that I may always slow down to live with my surroundings no matter my children’s age.
Cheers to feeling the presence of the moment in your heart!
(Written at almost two months postpartum.)