Throwing caution to the Wetlands wind
He only napped for about 30 minutes. In the unpredictable world of motherhood, I cling to the consistency we’ve spent months building. The flow of our day relies on it. This routine includes one nap around noon, for at least an hour if not more. But that didn’t happen today. Now, we enter unpredictable territory. Deep breaths. And another cup of coffee.
On this fine day, my 1-year-old has awoken from his barely peaceful slumber and now calls upon me to provide him with everything. Yet, he accepts nothing. One would think it would be wise to tread lightly here, but that only keeps us nose above water. I fed him, changed him and even opened one of the toys I wasn’t planning for him to play with for months just to see if we could jolt some calmer waters into our day. Nothing is working. At least, nothing within these walls. Today, we’ll need to improvise. I decide we’re going to take a walk outside. I decide we’re going to walk on Wetlands Edge.
As I frantically prepare everything we need—stroller, baby bag, at least two bottles, snacks, diapers, wipes, hand sanitizer, and so on—I start to question whether breaking routine like this is even worth it. My little guy refuses to be put down, so I’m carrying an extra 25 pounds of cuddlebug as I batten down the hatches and try to get this ship sailing. This only makes me wonder if he’ll tolerate sitting in his stroller for the walk.
As though I’m looking for reasons to back out, I take a peek outside. Routine makes me feel like I’m doing things right. Routine makes me feel competent. Safe. How can I abandon that? Through the window, I see the leaves of neighboring trees blowing in the wind. That is enough reason for me to put down the baby bag and deem this day too windy to go outside. What if he gets cold? What if that causes a meltdown? Perhaps I’ll just attempt our routine one more time. Maybe somehow it will magically work this time. Perhaps my 13-month-old will see logic, choose something here at home, and allow us to get back on track.
Good one.
Suddenly, I feel his grip on my shirt collar loosen as his little finger points up toward the window.
He sees the birds cutting across the sky, through the wind I was trying to avoid. In the same moment that I decided we couldn’t go outside, he found the first thing that day that made him smile.
And on a short-nap day like this, I wasn’t about to say no to that.
After another graceful rendition of moving heaven and earth to get a toddler into the car, we were on the road. The drive there had me questioning the idea that it’s about the journey, not the destination. That day, the destination was far more peaceful.
When I opened the car door to take him out, I was met with a squeal of excitement that filled me with more joy and energy than yet another cup of coffee ever could. I pulled him out of the car seat and watched as the wind immediately blew through his beautiful, alfalfa-like hair. Putting him in the stroller, I could feel in my body how different this was from our usual routine. Normally, by now, we might be eating snacks in his highchair or playing with blocks in his playpen. Today, we walk the path I’ve walked countless times in my life, yet it feels brand new.
There was one picnic table beneath a couple of trees. We sat there, listening to the rustling of leaves in the surprisingly warm, gentle wind. I straddled the bench so my son could sit in front of me and have a snack. As he relaxed his back into me, I felt all the stress of the morning fade away with the wind. I took a breath and looked out into the wetlands, watching the tall grass dance so serenely, not fighting the wind but moving with it. They don’t resist it; they survive because of it. As my son pointed up to the birds without the barrier of glass, I realized that today, so was I.
