Quietness

It’s a rarity these days when she is awake and all is quiet. To clarify, I’m not talking about the quiet when she is out of sight (because we all know that that right there is a toddler mum’s worst nightmare) but the quietness of pages turning, pencils scribbling on paper and plastic cups being placed in and out of boxes.
The quietness of little giggles, joyous murmurs and softly curved expressions. ⠀
The quietness of still being able to hear the jug boil, the clock tick and the washing machine spinning. ⠀
It’s bliss, actual bliss. ⠀

There isn’t the loudness that some days consist of.⠀
The loudness of grizzles, ripping pages, tantrums being thrown. ⠀
The loudness of tears, frown lines and little foot stomps. ⠀
The loudness drowning out the phone ringing, the appointment reminder or my heart racing.⠀

I wait for the quiet moments some days. I plan to do all the things in the window of quiet. However those moments and plans don’t always eventuate. ⠀
When rarity strikes, as it does when I least expect, I find myself getting caught in the quiet, losing track of the time and doing nothing other than listening to the quietness she allows. ⠀
It’s bliss, actual bliss. ⠀

But it’s not just bliss because of the peace and quiet, or because I’m not being used as a human coat hanger or personalised jungle gym. ⠀
It’s more than that. ⠀⠀

It’s because I can watch her, like really watch her and enjoy her, like really enjoy her, without the loudness which can sometimes rid me of that. ⠀
It’s in those rare moments that I’m caught up in her completely, timelessly, blissfully.⠀
It’s in those rare moments that I remember what it’s all about. ⠀