ten-month-old sandbag

Happy new year! Yesterday I went to a real deal, slow, steady, deep, wring-out-the-old-open-up-to-the-new yoga class (one of my intentions heading in: make peace with the fact that yoga class these days is a rare treat). During savasana, the teacher offered sandbags, which one could settle over her hips for a very grounded, weighted-down end to the practice. What a warm, solid feeling.

Later at home, I was sitting with Beatrice in the glider, nursing her before her nap. She always begins with the left side, wriggling, waving her top arm, and pushing her toes against my legs, refusing the allure of sleep. When we switch to the right side, she can't resist. The exploring, kneading fingers slow down and eventually gather themselves between her chest and my belly, The long, dark eyelashes blink, blink, and finally close. And the weight of her - the nearly twenty pounds of soft, heavy, sleep-slung, pink-cheeked Beatrice - settles with little sighs across my lap.

Watching her let go and relax, I had one of those moments when I realize the thing I have been wishing for is already right here, just different. I have been missing the peace and release of the final moments of yoga class. But all winter break, I've escaped from the whirl of family life three times a day (two naps and a bedtime) into the dark quiet of Beatrice's room, felt her becoming heavier, curving around my hips in the glider. Even when my mind is going over to do lists, I am never very far from my body. The sight of her face in profile being overtaken by sleep draws me into the sensory sweetness of right now in a way nothing else quite could.

So! Be it resolved: I would like 2014 to be a year of slowing down and accepting limits, in the hopes of being more fully present to the riches of my life as it is right now, all around me. And I send wishes for everyday pleasures, and the ability to enjoy them, to all of you.