I'm so enjoying the quiet of January this year. I feel like we've nestled deeply into its stillness, that hushed lull that follows the holidays.
This winter feels incredibly different. Last year, of course, we were negotiating life with a three-month-old – the blessing of sleep deprivation is that later, your memories of it can feel foggy, pieced together, almost dreamy. Dreamlike, anyway. Almost like it never happened. (Almost.)
Before Miles's arrival, seasonal affective disorder made this time of year so challenging. I still have it, I still know it's there, but oh it's quiet now. I've known for all of my therapy-going adult years that (1) regular exercise and (2) a consistent routine are direct paths away from the sadness and anxiety that settle in my heart in January, February, and sometimes March.
Of course, knowing something rationally and being able to implement it in real life are two very different things. It wasn't enough to only do it for myself (somewhat sadly, I suppose). I'd craft schedules and to-do lists, write winter goals, plan to visit the gym at work, and then slip so quickly from those promises into...well, couch life. That simply can't happen now. My son's schedule depends on mine, and his is one I'm motivated to protect at all costs. I have to hold myself accountable in order to keep his life healthy and happy and predictable – and now mine is healthier and happier and more predictable too.
(The gym doesn't influence his life as much, I suppose, but I've been prioritizing an hour there every other day. It's become sacred time I can spend entirely by myself, and I'm enjoying so much the experiencing of my body getting stronger.)
Our weekends are blissfully empty of formal plans. Kristie and I take turns working on chores or small home projects while the other plays with the toddler close by. We bake and clean and launder, entirely together. We make second breakfast. We take Miles to children's museums or parks or play dates or the library. We doze on the couch while he naps.
As for me, day to day: I'm keeping a list of knitting to-dos in my phone, and working through it slowly. (In the Google Tasks app, which I like very much.) I invite Miles to help me fold laundry on the floor or rip up kale for soup or sweep in the kitchen, understanding fully that the time each task takes to complete will be multiplied exponentially, but that it will be made immediately worth it to see him engaged and so proud to be helping. I watch an episode of Marie Kondo's new Netflix show after bedtime, and then sort through our belongings with Kristie, moving through the house one area at a time without rushing. I make our bed with cozy flannel sheets. I read a few pages of Mending Matters [affiliate link] before falling asleep, and dream of dyeing raw silk pink with avocado pits. I devote a few minutes each evening to growing our wedding video business. I take chilly walks downtown with dog and stroller in tow. I watch "Charmed" in the bath.
I'm enjoying the lull this year more than ever before. The three of us (and Samson too) live religiously by a schedule of wake times, nap times, bedtimes. But it's this rigidity, this safe structure that creates room for unhurried wonder, coziness, gentle work, hygge to thrive. I like it very much.
