It’s late morning and I’m lying in bed, still in my pajamas. The laptop is balanced precariously on my belly; Lukas is napping across the hall. He looked so happy to take a nap and drifted off to sleep without a peep. It almost felt like he was grateful that I was putting him to bed, instead of dragging him off on an errand like I had planned. The baby is kicking me. He always seems to be kicking me. My guess is that he’s intent on making absolutely sure that I know he’s in there (don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten).
I could be doing something—laundry, showering, yoga—but I saw my unmade bed, the crumpled sheets, the plump, soft pillow, and they invited me in. The window is open and there’s a breeze playing in the backyard, causing the thin, papery birch trees to sway slowly. There are things I don’t like about this apartment, but I love the master bedroom. It’s smaller than our last one, but cozier, airier. Painted a dusky violet gray, it feels like a hotel room in all the right ways: the muted paint, crisp white trim, dark wood dresser, and perfectly coordinated bedding. It’s a serene space and I love it. The window is large, the sort where the glass slides sideways when you open it. The screen was missing in our last bedroom, a fact I somehow missed and Drew pointed out to me a few days later.
“Haven’t you noticed the bugs in the house?” he asked me.
My face fell. No, no I hadn’t.
“Goodbye, open window,” I said sadly, mourning the loss of cool evening breezes.
But at least I had the sliding glass doors. When we moved, I thought I would miss them fiercely. And I do, sort of. Apartment living usually makes me feel boxed in, like there’s no easy way to access nature. I’m a “bring in ALL the light” kind of girl. No closed shades for me; no moody, half dark living space as I go about my day. I want to catch every single ray of sunlight. And somehow, this apartment feels lighter than I expected. A window might seem silly to you; seriously, how excited can someone get about a window? I’m here to tell you pretty darn excited.
So in my case, it’s a funny, literal case of “When God closes a door, he opens a window.”
Looking for the little things: that’s what I’m about these next four weeks. Pajamas on a weekday while the toddler naps and the breeze plays peek-a-boo out my window…I’ll take it.