My heart is filled with doubt and doubt is a terrible thing. It casts a shadow on every action and eats at the mind from within. Sometimes it threatens to erode me completely. It is totalitarian, relentless. Dr. S. said Milan is my teacher, my little guru, and I’m trying to be more present in the moment, to be more relaxed, more Zen-like. I like to just sit with Milan in silence; that’s when I’m happiest. But then doubt comes in, yakking that maybe I need to fill the space with words, maybe I need to talk more, tell Milan things, show him things, teach him. And as soon as the thought is thought, I’m out of the moment. I hate to talk to just comment on things, oh look, that’s a nice shape, a nice color, oh look how well you are moving the car, good job. I hate breaking the silence but I feel like I should talk more. After all, how else is Milan going to learn to talk? Through a silent mother? And I think what good is it me sitting there, just being… and I get up to “do” something, like washing the dishes, and Milan will stop his quiet play immediately and follow me in there. And then he will cry. So the quiet being together, the being silently at play is “doing something.” Or is it?
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