I put the baby to bed at 10:30 last night before shuffling across the hall to peak at Aiden, my 4 year old son.  I walked closer to his bed, grateful for the tiny yellow beam of his nightlight.  "I'll just tuck him in, and kiss him on the forehead," I thought.  AHHHHH! I clamped my hand over my mouth before some choice phrase could escape.  I looked down at the offending toy; a lego had attacked the center part of my foot - surely that's the most tender part of the foot.  Not to be derailed from my motherly mission, I shrug off the pain and pull his coveted Star Wars quilt up to his chest.  He grunts and yanks the blanket down without opening even one eye.  Ah well.  I give him a light kiss and deftly avoid the legos on the way out.  Now down the hall to my daughter's room.  Ava is sprawled out on her bed in her 2 year old glory.  Hair wild around her face, one arm hanging over the bed and the other holding on to one member of what can now only be called a baby doll army.  I glance around the room and sure enough, her little baby dolls are staged throughout the room - on the dresser, on the floor in a corner, in her toy stroller - all watching over their sergeant.  I blow her a kiss, and hope that she'll sleep the whole night in her room.
 
Finally, I climb into bed.  My husband's breathing and the baby's breathing are in slow, methodic rhythm.  I wait for the rhythm to carry me off to sleep.  Then the list starts. The never ending, always there, invisible, inevitable list.  "Have to go to Kohl's to return that stuff tomorrow.  I need to pick the date for Ava's birthday party and send it out.  The training for work needs to get done right away.  Oprah said once that she washes her sheets once a week, at least that's what I thought she said. How long ago did I wash my sheets? Not good.  I can't even remember.  What would Oprah say?  I have GOT to make time to get that done. "  I make the mistake of opening my eyes and seeing the pile of papers, pictures, empty picture frames, books, looming on my dusty dresser.  "Oh geez! I have to order Grant's 3 month pictures and put them away. And, I have to write in his baby book. I have to write in Ava's baby book.  I haven't even sent out the invitations for Grant's christening yet.  How much is that going to cost anyway?  And, the check for daycare is due. Are we going to be able to cover that?  I need to get Aiden in swim lessons again - there was just some article about how some association now says it changed it's mind and it really is imporant to get 4 year olds in swim lessons.  How am I going to get Aiden to swim lessons, do something with Ava so she's not left out and play with Grant and make sure he has a great experience as a baby?  And, work? And, when are Andrew and I going to make some time for date night? Does date night really even exist? Who has time for date night? I didn't even brush my hair all weekend and other moms are creating amazing date nights. What is wrong with me?"
 
My jaw starts to ache and I finally make myself relax my face muscles.  My jaw seems to drop a good inch lower. Maybe this is how Tyra Banks teaches "Smizing" or smiling with your eyes.  No more watching Top Model reruns for me....Regardless, my head is pounding, my teeth are probably an eighth of an inch shorter from grinding and my muscles feel like I've run a marathon but still look like they belong to a person who's indulged in too much pizza, cheese and crackers and fudge pops.  Is this a panic attack?  I finally fell asleep wondering about that question.
 
Today I woke up after a solid 7 hours - baby Grant's gift to me.  Ava was smushed next to me, fingers tangled in my hair - she must have snuck in during the night.  Aiden wandered in and said "Mama!  I'm so happy, it's going to be a fun day today!"  And somehow, the worry list faded away.  In an instant, a new agenda for the day was born and it consisted of just two items.
 
1) Count my blessings
2) Laugh with children
 
I'm not kidding myself.  The worries will likely creep back in, if not tonight, then another night.  But today, I'm giving myself permission to let go.