My wife gave me the day off. Really, she gave me permission to take the day off. I’m thankful. Without her blessing, I tend to feel really guilty any time I take some time to myself.

Although today is Sunday, it was going to be a working day. I had planned to spend the day doing legal work to help us get over a little financial slump we’re having right now. Bills are piling up and so is the stress. This morning I wore the stress on my face like caked-on makeup; my wife couldn’t help but see it. You need a break, she said. She’s right.

To give me some time, my wife took Pidge out to a children’s museum—a nice way to spend a rainy day. How will I spend my day?

I sit down in our little gray rocking chair and take out my computer. Although my intention is not to work, the pull is there and I do a little bit. Stop it, I tell myself. I pause for a moment and listen. The rain falls from the sky in two tones – the quick and full rush of steady rainfall on our metal roof, and the drip-plop-splash of the accumulation as it slides from the awnings to the stones and concrete below. Our 13-year-old cat purrs loudly as she snuggles onto my lap, nuzzling her head against my chest and hands. The little baby growing inside of me pushes back against the pressure of the cat on my abdomen. I love that.

I love feeling the baby roll and kick and stretch. I have never felt anything like it before. She doesn’t do it constantly, but it’s frequent enough to be reassuring, frequent enough to bring a much-needed smile to my face. You feel her when you’re still, I remind myself. Be still.

In today’s world of stress and busyness and work, it is hard to be still. I think stillness also goes against my nature. When I was in college, a professor made a comment about me: “She likes to be busy.” I remember being so insulted. No I don’t, I thought. No one likes to be busy. I have to be busy. I don’t have a choice. I am starting to realize that sometimes that is true, and sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes I don’t have a choice—I need to work, and work hard, in order to make ends meet. Other times, I can choose to slow down. In fact, if I don’t choose to slow down, my body will choose it for me by making me so sick that I am forced to take a day off. If I’m going to be taking a day off anyway, it might as well be when I want it, right? I moved to Vermont for a still life—one that wasn’t packed with traffic and hustle and concrete and people. New Englanders work hard, but they also know the peace that comes from quiet, rural living. I need that peace. I need that stillness.

Stillness for me sometimes comes in the form of sitting and reading by the fire, or snuggling with pets. It can also come by engaging in passion projects, which is what I think I will do today. I like creating pretty things, and today I intend to work on figuring out how to transform Pidge’s room into a sibling room. Of course it will be some time before Pidge’s sister joins her in that room, but it might be nice for Pidge to get used to a new arrangement. It also might help my wife and I to feel like we are really expecting another child. It seems odd to say it that way, but it’s true. While we know in our heads that this baby is coming, it has been difficult to fully appreciate our upcoming addition to our lives. It seems surreal at times, and the constant days filled with toddler parenting and work leave little room to sit back and wonder about the changes heading our way.

I put my hand on my abdomen. We are busy, but you are here. We are busy, but we will never be too busy for you.

Our other cat meanders into the room. He and the cat on my lap don’t typically get along, but today is different. It’s a rainy day. It’s a cozy day. It’s a day for shelving tension, for relaxing and engaging meaningfully and quieting the stress. I take a deep breath, exhale, and feel a little bit better.