Tip of My Iceberg

Newborns have a very basic job description.

Intake and output. Sleep in between.

Sloane, at nine weeks, has developed an expertise in the first two areas. They are connected, top to bottom. An operational statement that the plumbing is working well.

The sleep part? Her nights are getting better, but her days are filled with busyness.

She has a packed schedule. Bubble blowing, grinning, mimicking her Aunt Debbie, tummy time to promote strong neck muscles, producing man-type toots that smell quite unladylike.

She is not, however, a still child. Even when trying to sleep, her arms are waving around like the conductor of an orchestra. When awake, she’s a constant motion machine. I’ve contemplated giving her baby hand weights so she can have a jump start building her biceps and triceps.

Not a well-received suggestion.

The difficulty comes when her arm waving startles her awake. Which happens fairly early into nap time.

Unless she’s swaddled.

These baby straightjackets offer an excellent source of calm pressure to keep her from smacking herself in the face with her flying fists.

She works so hard at getting her arms free from their tight confines. She struggles to move her little appendages up her sides and across her tummy to find the space to push through to freedom. She resents having them pinned to her sides.

Which seems counterintuitive when it’s the only way she actually gets good sleep. Bound up like a burrito. Twisted into a little taco.

There’s something about the gentle pressure of being held by the confines of a warm blanket, not imprisoned, but restrained, that’s soothing. Feeling comforted by softness. Having the reassurance of closeness.

Sloane fights it at first. Working those arms up and out. Melody has become a pro at wrapping her tightly enough so she can’t escape. When Sloane manages to pull a Houdini and works herself out of her wrappings, she wakes up.

What she really wants is to be soothed.

I like the idea of being soothed. I enter the grind of the busyness of life and begin to run on automatic pilot. My “doing” gets a little out of control, and unless someone jams my “on” button “off”, I struggle with turning my thinking and incessant doing off.

Jesus has that gentle restraining love that comforts me and keeps me from continually smacking myself upside the head with poor choices and arrogant behavior.

I’m no different than Sloane. I fight that love, wisdom and gentleness with an attitude that demands my way. My time.

There’s no rest in my way. Frustration happens because things don’t turn out like I want them to. The flailing arm thing.

Jesus holds me. He soothes me with His truth because I don’t always choose well or wisely. I can fight Him, ignore Him, refuse to listen to His Word.

That’s when I end up losing.

If I choose to follow Him, I’m choosing not to do the things that can hurt me.

Sloane doesn’t realize that her mom does things for her good, so she’ll grow to be all she can be.

I’m pretty dense when it comes to that myself.