simple pleasure: peace & quiet

When I was growing up, my mom used to always tell me the same story about when I was a baby. We were living in Tucson in a teeny tiny apartment, and to get me to sleep, she'd put me on their water bed (how very "early 80s", I know) and sing me to sleep. But she wouldn't sing just any old lullaby. She'd sing the first verse (because who really knows the rest of this song, really?) of "Que Sera Sera."

Over ... and over ... and over again.

Of course I don't remember those moments but, because my mom has told me that story so many times over the years, I feel like I can picture it. In fact, I feel like that's exactly how my first few months with Sam were. We lived in a cool, dark, first-floor apartment in Baltimore, and we spent our days on the couch, on the floor, in bed — always horizontal. Just looking into each other's eyes. Me, rubbing Sam's back ... or belly ... or butt — whatever body part he'd throw my way. And we'd honestly spend hours of our days there. Just wrapped up in that quiet space. Soaking it all in.

But now, with Audrey, I hate to admit that those moments are few and far between. Sure, we spend every waking hour (and some not-so-waking hours) of the day together, but I'm usually carting her around while tending to something else. Switching laundry, flipping grilled cheese, sidewalk chalking the entire driveway, replaying Caillou for the 74,326th time (god bless you, On Demand) — yea, it's fair to say I'm a bit distracted 97 percent of the time.

In all honesty, our life still basically revolves around Sam. Audrey, in all her sweetness, is just kind of along for the ride.

But tonight, after Sam had gone to bed and after an especially "How the hell does a 2-year-old tiny human make me feel like a certifiable crazy person?!?" kind of day, I found myself crawling onto the floor, lying down on the barf-covered quilt (a staple in our living room's decor these days) and taking in the quiet with my baby girl.

No race cars whizzing past our heads, or Yo Gabba Gabba blaring in the background. No pretzel chips being tossed down the stairs, or furniture being moved around like Nate Berkus on speed. (It's true; Sam has taken up a love for re-decorating.) No puzzles or chocolate milk. No "I have absolutely no idea what you're saying, but it sounds really freakin' important" one-way conversations.

Nope, just two girls ... snuggled up together ... whispering those sweet words into the dark ...

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be pretty, will I be rich
Here's what she said to me

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera

Sure, it may have been short-lived, but it was my own mother-daughter "que sera" moment — something I've been looking forward to for a very long time. The only thing that could've made it better? A water bed, of course.

(Side note: As you have probably noticed, I'm a little — ok, a lot — late to the Instagram party. Please excuse my blatant obsession.)


The Gearys said...

You have such a gift with words, Sara. I got teary reading your post. You are a fantastic mom to both of those babies and it shows:-)

kscott said...

i love this blog post sar! such amazing memories..new and old!

Janet Scott said...

Sara!!! You are reducing me to mush. Mascara running, goosebumps popping, heart melting mush. Those were the days that changed me from never wanting to have kids to never wanting to stop. I am still over-the-top crazy about you, Que Cera Cera. And that's the name of that tune!

And, damn, that water bed was cool.