Restless (Day #8)

Today’s post was supposed to be about my self-mandated Sabbath.  That was the plan.  That is, until Lil Mil decided to turn into a monster regular baby and cry all night long.  Moany girl is gone.  Enter Crying Girl.  Same cute face.  Remarkable lung capacity.

Yesterday started off really well.  Lil Mil had a great night Saturday night, so we both woke up Sunday morning feeling rested.  Ready for our day off.

My very first day off, in fact.  Ever.  Sure, I’ve spent many a day doing nothing, but never when there was something to do.  Plain and simple, I have never been a Sabbath-keeper.  Before yesterday, I’d never even attempted to be one.  I’d talked about being one, wanted to be one – even planned theoretical Sabbath days – but at the end of the day (or the week, in this case), I never could do it.  So much to do, so little time.  I couldn’t possibly spare a day.

But wait.  That’s not the point of this post.  The point of this post is to explain why this post isn’t about my Sabbath experience.  Why that post will have to wait.

The reason is simple:  I am too unrested to write about rest.  I am too worn out – too completely and utterly exhausted – to say anything coherent about my inaugural day as a Sabbath keeper.  Why?  Because this much-awaited day of rest was followed by a sleepless night of shushing and rocking and cradling and crying (hers, but also mine).

There’s a lesson in there somewhere, but I’m too tired to find it.


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