I’ve been spending time with Hudson this week. My grandson will be one year old in a few days. He is the joy of my heart and I am soaking up baby love. My plan was to post lots and lots of pictures of Hud Bud and report on all his antics. I came equipped with a computer and a new iphone. Even so, it didn’t happen and there are three reasons why.
First, I couldn’t take my eyes off the child long enough to grab the camera and shoot. Every magical moment was worth capturing, but I was so captured by him that it seemed almost irreverent to break the spell with a camera.
Second, we were without an internet connection for a few days. It was horrible and wonderful. I missed checking the blog, Facebook, email, news — but there was plenty of time to read “Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?” over and over to a giggling boy. There’s no comparison.
Third, I did try to take some pics, but every one of them is a blur. To be sure, that’s a reflection on my poor photography skills. Hudson, however, did not stay put for a second, ever. We’ll both work on it.
There. Those are all my excuses. And now, here is where my heart is.
As I was scrolling through all those blurry photos on my phone, I thought, “How appropriate.” Life is a blur, isn’t it? Wasn’t I just the one passing dreary winter afternoons with little ones who didn’t take long enough naps? Was it that long ago that I was cutting toast up into tiny bite-sized pieces for the child in the high chair? Has it been years since the smell of fresh-washed babies slathered with Baby Magic filled the air?
Thinking back, I remember feeling utterly overwhelmed one Saturday night. PB and I had gotten four children in and out of the tub — scrubbed, rubbed dry and in their jammies. “And now,” I thought, “I have to trim eighty fingernails and toenails.” Eighty! I didn’t know how I could possibly carry the responsibility of eighty fingers and toes to trim and love and kiss and teach. Somehow we made it. We all survived.
Today I prayed for a moment of clarity in the midst of the motion.
I tip-toed into Hudson’s room and watched his little body breath in and out.
Stillness. Rest. That’s how to stop the blur.