I lay down with Paige in my bed at naptime. I cuddle her as she drifts off. It seems like it would be a simple process, but it's not. Her mind wanders, her mind does not stop working, her mind doesn't slow down.
And I wonder where she gets it...
She actually talks herself to sleep. Word after word, she starts out strong, physically bounding from one place to the next on my bed. Jumps over me as I lay there in the still of what should be a quiet moment. I try to model naptime for her, in case she forgot what exactly we're here to do.
She giggles and in 21 month speak she tells stories of her morning, her week, her life. Tickles and elephants and bellies and white ice cream and daddy. Daddy and Fynn and Mommy and smooches. Smooches and Nammy {Grammy} and Nammy {Grampy} and Fo-wi-da {Florida} and airplane. Airplane and in-the-sky and bird and butterfly. Butterfly and flower and frog and ribbit {she tries to hop as she ribbits, belly up and half asleep... }
Some of it makes sense. The here to there. The stream of words and thoughts and feelings. All tied into one, they leave her mouth and are put out into the open to hang in the semi darkness of my bedroom. To mesh together and sit until she wake and resumes, without even a single pause, where she left off.
She doesn't sit still. Ever. Her words move her here to there and back again as her legs do the physical work. She doesn't sit still as she sleeps, flailing her arms or kicking her legs. She goes and goes and goes.
I hope one day she stops a bit. Can sit with herself and be at peace with her mind and her thoughts.
Because it's hard when you can't. I'm learning, with time. But my mind races. A monkey brain, as my yoga instructor calls it, swinging from limb to limb, swaying and distracted and running. Sometimes I sit and wonder where my mind got to where it's sitting. Looking back on the stream I went down to get where I am. And I can't, too many steps, not enough time in between to recognize and look around and notice.
My monkey brain is like Paige's naptime stream of words. Constant, until my eyes close and drift. And without a blink, without even a stretch, it starts again upon waking. Swinging and swaying, influenced by the slightest breeze. Changing direction with every fifth word.