The New Year

February is the new January.

I have always boasted of my love for a fresh start. New year, new goals. Crisp, unfaded blue lines in a blank notebook. When most people dread Mondays, I look forward to them because somewhere in my subconscious I’ve taught myself to believe that the beginning of every week is a chance to make myself a better person. You can’t start a diet on a Wednesday.

It’s compulsive, really. Perhaps even somewhat neurotic. If someone else writes on my calendar...especially after I’ve just turned over into a new month...I have to resist the urge to throw the entire thing away and start over. Where other people can scribble on their to do lists, proudly scratching out the accomplished items, I make neat little checkmarks. If I’ve misspelled something in ink, I have to write the entire list over. So you can imagine the inner turmoil when a resolution isn’t met. I want to start the entire year over...or at best, wait until the next January to try again.

Having a baby on January 4th doesn’t fit neatly into my neurosis, particularly when I was convinced my perfect family of four would have been complete before the end of the year allowing me to charge into 2013 full throttle. 

Instead, January--the month that would ordinarily be filled with vision-casting, list-making, exercise, and lots and lots of lettuce--became a month of sleep deprivation, pain killers, and lots and lots of diapers.

After another marathon labor (my water broke on the morning of January 2nd, Oliver was born some 60 hours later), I was a bit angry with my body. It let me down. If I were an ugly, awful...ok honest...person, I could admit to being even a bit angry with the tiny human who decided he was way too cozy in utero to come out when I had planned. I truly believe in the instant bond of a mother and child, love at first sight and all that, but man, the newborn stuff is rough on both of us.  And I think liking each other takes awhile. 

That said, I like Oliver. I like Jude. I even like Caleb, the man that catapulted me into this motherhood thing in the first place. Because now, it’s February. A new month, busting at the seams with love and possibility. 

I’m postpartum enough that I’ve begun the work of getting my pre-baby body back. I’ve set goals of better correspondence with loved ones (in a social networking age, traditional communication sometimes requires significant effort). I’m trying out a cleaning schedule to keep up with the house without missing out on precious time with my little ones. Things are looking good for 2013 after all. 

Here’s the caveat. I will probably mess up at some point. Maybe even before the end of the month. Running on minimal sleep, chasing a clumsy toddler, trying to make sure my infant survives...something is bound to fall through the cracks. So I’ve decided to be gentle with myself. Allow myself some margin for error. And by all means, take the time to just sit and be with my boys...fully BE there, without thinking about everything that should be done instead. 

I’m reminded of the Scripture that promises us that God’s mercies are new every morning. I love The Message version of Lamenations 3:22-24:

God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,    his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning.
They’re created new every morning.    How great your faithfulness!
I’m sticking with God

God’s faithfulness is better than my morning coffee, His mercy more sure than my greatest efforts. I am learning to rely more and more on this truth, leaning my forehead into His heartbeat every time I feel overwhelmed, and allowing the arms that stretched out to save me to wrap around me and remind me again that I am His.

February is the new January...and if things don’t go as planned...there’s always March.