One step at a time in through the looking glass.

Last week we sat on the tarmac for two hours, our flight home delayed due to thunderstorms. We eventually deplaned, boarded again, and got home about three hours late.

Years ago this would have catapulted me into a rage. The lack of control or information, the mismanagement of the situation. But this time I was fine. Perhaps vaguely annoyed, but confident we’d get home one way or another.

Navigating parenthood and the pandemic have made me a much more Zen person, I concluded.

Then, a corollary. This weekend we’ve all been sick with the stomach flu. My husband is sleeping on the couch while I feed the kids lunch. I let the baby crawl around on the floor while my son finishes. She’s naked but for a diaper, chunky now, I notice, and robust too. How fast this time has gone. Over our speakers I’m playing the piano music I played while I anxiously waited for my son to arrive and then during the haze of both of their newborn days. I think about how I wasn’t anxious waiting for her to arrive, how her arrival was a surprise more than anything. How much of that was that we were busy juggling COVID quarantine for our son? I don’t know, but I think how much we’ve been through since, how much I’ve taken in stride, how little space I have for fretting about the future anymore. It’s exhausting, but in some ways I’m grateful that all I can do these days is take one step at a time.