I’m the stay-at-home mom who relishes the quiet that comes with contact naps. These quiet contact naps have become a sort of sacred rhythm in my first year of motherhood. During these stretches of stillness, I’m anchored to my recliner, free to do the two things I love most.
Read, of course. The recliner sits next to a tall window, and the sill is just deep enough to serve as a makeshift bookshelf when the blinds are raised a bit. At the moment, I’ve got several books within reach—one literally titled How to Read the Bible, a few that lean into what I’d call biblical feminism, two on homemaking, and one about pregnancy. And I would not be a Good Christian Blogger if I didn’t also have my Bible (insert hair toss and nail check here). It’s the NET translation with full notes, so she’s a thick gorl, as a friend would say.
I also love to take this time to think. Not in a problem-solving kind of way, but more of a “prayer dump” onto God. Here’s the mess of my mind, help me order it. I pray for our son. For my husband. For my parents. For our friends. And for myself, because if I’m not whole, and wholly engrossed in the work of God, I will undoubtedly drown.
In these quiet moments, where I etch into memory my son’s tiny nails, sweet nose, and precious ears, I find myself wrestling with God. I bring Him everything I thought I knew about being a Christian and being a woman. Why? Because from where I sit, traditional Christian homemaking isn’t the answer we women are looking for. But neither is feminism and the rat race.
I’ve tried to find footing in both worlds, one promising peace through routines and submission, the other urging ambition and independence. But neither seems built for the fullness of who I am. Traditional homemaking can feel performative; feminism, relentless. Both offer pieces of the truth, but trying to live up to either is utterly exhausting, especially on top of learning how to be a mom. I’m still searching for a path that allows me to live rooted and real, not split down the middle.
The revelations that surface in these hours have been, as you might guess, transformative. I’ve spent time in tears over my own pride, in awe and wonder at familiar passages of Scripture that suddenly feel new. And all the while, I’m holding my own sleeping flesh and blood, innocent, still, unaware.
If this all sounds idyllic, that’s because it’s Friday and I’ve decided to ignore my responsibilities. Usually there’s a meal plan to write, a grocery order to place, emails to answer, appointments to schedule, baby inventory to check, and Amazon orders to sort out. Did I tell the lawn service to switch our day? Nope. So now we have to deal with nap time noise and barking dogs.
As my son approaches his first birthday, I find myself mourning the loss of these naps. I won’t get this time again. With our next child, we’ll have a toddler to chase, and contact naps will most likely happen in a baby carrier while I’m simultaneously saving the dogs from being terrorized.
Will I ever get these hours back?
Maybe someday. If my future daughter-in-law is willing, perhaps I’ll have the chance to offer her a reprieve. Maybe I’ll get to hold my son’s firstborn while they nap, peaceful, content, completely unaware that they, too, might one day mourn this kind of stillness.
Becoming a mother shatters your once-held beliefs. And it is only the work of the Lord, whether you believe in Him or not, that makes you whole again.