To be

image via crina prida

I'm sitting in my chair, nursing the baby and clicking my way around the internet.  I pause, lean my head back to rest on the chair, close my eyes, and just think.

I think, "I want this.  This is exactly what I choose."  And I mean it.  I feel it.  I love it.

This is my life.

All around me the world hums.  A constant hum of jobs and duties and chores and activity.  Of laughter and tears and running and playing and cuddling and soothing.  Busy busy busy except when I'm not, and when I'm not, I working so hard at not working, at making that precious time count, that, now, in this moment, I realize I hardly ever just be.

Just breathe in the cool, crisp, slightly electrifying air that hints hopefully at the coming of spring.  Feel the warm, soft, content body tugging gently at mine.  Hear the voices coming into my ears, younger and more innocent than I sometimes remember them to be.

The love I have for this life, for my life, rushes through me to my fingers and toes, filling me up to the brim, refueling me in a way nothing else but sinking deeply into the goodness of a perfect, small, unimportant but life-encompassing moment can.