Getting Nothing Done

It's nearly 1pm and I've done nothing.

This is not new.

It's not that I've done nothing-nothing; in fact I colored my hair. Roots were entirely shabby. Other that that I've nursed the baby and got the older kids to school and nursed the baby and taken a shower and nursed the baby and read some scripture and nursed the baby, and ate a sandwich and nursed the baby and held the baby and rocked the baby.

And I ate half a Reese's.

My days have gone like this for weeks. I look around at the mess and the clothes that need folding and the clothes that need ironing (and the new beautiful Rowenta steamer I bought to make my life easier, still sitting in plastic) and I feel awful.

I do have a productive time, because I have Emma to help me. After school she holds the baby for a few minutes while I race around, gathering laundry or filling the dishwasher or running the dyson (we don't vacuum here, we DYSON). I then sling the baby and help with homework and set the table and such. After the little one is asleep at night is my big work time. I make lunches and get dinner prepped for the next day (since dinner is the baby's fussy time) and read and respond to emails and such. Still, I can't even begin to get it all done, and by the next morning I'm right back where I started.

So, what did I do with my extra 30 minutes today? I colored my hair. Pfft.

So, with fresh color, but a messy head of hair, I sit in front of the computer, cradling the baby to keep her happy, and perusing the internet with my left hand. I'm talented like that.

As she begins to doze I look down at her sweet little body. Her little fingers and toes are amazing. She smells good. Through my efforts she's got fat little thighs and dimples in her elbows. Chewable cheeks. A milky-white tongue when she yawns.

I think about the possibilities of her future. Not her FUTURE, but more like... laughs and hugs and drawings and books and scooters and dollies and fire trucks and yanking the hair on the cat. These are good things. These are worthwhile things.

My body is squishy and my house is cluttered; but my baby is well and fed and happy. My children are safe and loved. My husband comes home to dinner and a smile and a squeeze and as much peace as I can create in 10 minute snatches.

I know that I'm trying my best and I know that it's all my Father in Heaven asks for. These days will go by so fast. If my house is a mess, but I spend an hour rocking the baby, I think that might be ok.