“One Day at a Time” Really? Me?

Recently a dear friend asked me, “So, how’s it going with three little boys?” I said to her, “For the first time in my life, I am taking it one day at a time.”

She threw her head back with a chuckle and said, “Oh, I just love that! What great advice.” I thought, well this should be nothing new to you since you raised three boys into respected young men. Surely you remember the chaos that entailed.

It really was the truth, my newly found truth. I have always been a planner, scheduling things way in advance, prepping things for the week and the weekend, and I’ve been called too organized a time or two.

But these days, with our six- and four-year-old sons, and our sweet three-month old baby boy, I have to take things as they come.

After I gave birth to our first son, I endured a period of postpartum crazy. It wasn’t necessarily depression, but heightened and out-of-control anxiety. I finally had this sweet baby in my arms, so I worried about everything to make sure he stayed healthy and safe. The majority of these thoughts and worries lasted all night while he slept peacefully in his crib.

My doctor told me, “Don’t anticipate. Participate.” She went on to say, “If that means participating in sleep while he is taking nap, by all means, do it!”

Though I had to slowly teach myself the truth of what she said then, now her words resonate deeply with me. Isn’t there a saying that tomorrow will bring enough worries of its own?

Every morning, we take it in stride, as we have 45 minutes to get dressed, eat breakfast, put on socks and shoes, make sure the dog is fed, gather school supplies and lunches, and either nurse, hold, or load the baby depending on what kind of night he has had. And daddy leaves the house before our routine starts.

Every afternoon and evening, we play, look at homework, make tomorrow’s lunches, start dinner, leave dinner on a cold stove if the baby needs to eat, eat dinner eventually, take a hurried bath, have popsicles, read some stories, say our prayers, and try to go to bed, which we all know takes a good, long while.

I think it’s the activity level that does not allow me to think about what tomorrow will bring. But I also finally recognize, I just can’t let myself. I have to live in the moment. Granted, each moment brings a string of varied thoughts, and I constantly pause to write something down on one of my multiple calendars or to put an alert in my phone. My phone – lifesaving little thing – alerts me to life’s needs. From allergy medicine every evening to making sure Caleb wears PJs on pajama day and Casey remembers his library books.

When my first was a baby, I didn’t think I was “tired enough” to get good rest at night, when really it was my hormones so out of whack. A good friend, who had two little girls under three, told me, “One day, you will be so exhausted, you will just crash at night.”

I remember thinking, “That’s nice, but no I won’t. My mind never lets me sleep.” Let me tell you that when the dust settles and I’ve had about a ten-minute conversation with my husband, I am snoozing. Many nights, I do not remember him coming to bed.

I sleep when I can, and when the sun shines the next morning, I traverse through the day at hand. And if I forget that it’s crazy sock day at preschool, well, I’m sure another will come soon.