Life’s moving fast. The calendar’s packed, the to-do list multiplies overnight, and some days I feel like I’m just trying to keep up. But every morning, one little face brings me back to what matters most, my 10-month-old daughter.
Wide-eyed. Curious. Fully present. She was born in a city that never stops buzzing, full of lights, sirens, surprises, and endless distractions. And yet, she manages to remind me daily of something this fast world often forgets: how to pause.
She doesn’t talk yet (unless you count the adorable babble), but she notices everything. The flutter of leaves. The rhythm of footsteps. The way sunlight dances on the wall. In her own quiet way, she’s showing me what it means to be mindful. To really see, feel, and live in the moment.
Since becoming her mom, I’ve been tuning in too, slowing down, paying attention, letting go of the rush. Because even though she can’t repeat my words, she’s soaking in my actions. And lately I’ve been asking myself: What kind of values am I teaching her, just by how I move through the day?
Here’s what I hope she’s picking up, even now, before the words come.
1. PRESENCE OVER PRODUCTIVITY
Motherhood has totally rewritten my idea of a “successful” day. Gone are the neat checklists and the pressure to finish one thing before starting another. These days, success looks a little different. It looks like sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching her eyes widen at a leaf fluttering by. Or pausing mid-email just to cuddle, carry, feed, and cuddle again. Sometimes in that exact order. Sometimes not. And that’s okay.
What matters most is that she stays at the top of my list, not just in theory, but in action. When she feels seen, heard, and safe, that’s a day done well.
Now that we’re easing into Kita (currently in the middle of Eingewöhnung), these moments feel even more precious. The mornings? A bit of a whirlwind, snack boxes, socks & pacifiers that somehow always disappear, a last-minute diaper check. But still, I try to carve out a moment to pause. To breathe. To sit with her a few extra minutes at drop-off and remind her (and myself): I’m here.
Because if there’s one thing I want her to carry with her, it’s this, presence is always more powerful than productivity.
2. RESPECT FOR NATURE
One of her favorite parts of the day? The Spielplatz, especially if there’s water involved. A tiny splash zone is all it takes for pure joy: hands in the stream, water trickling down her arms, giggles echoing with every ripple. No toys. No tech. Just nature doing its thing.
We head outside every day, rain or shine. We touch leaves. We sit barefoot in the grass. We chase shadows and stare at clouds. These moments might seem simple, but I believe they’re quietly profound. Each squish of mud and gust of wind is teaching her something: to feel, to observe, to respect the world around her.
Nature can be unpredictable, especially in Berlin! But we roll with it. If it rains, we find a tree to hide under. If it’s windy, we snuggle up indoors with the window cracked open. There’s always a way. And that’s another lesson I want her to carry: Mother Nature teaches flexibility, resilience, and that almost every challenge has a solution.
These little outdoor rituals? They’re not just playtime. They’re planting seeds for wonder, for grounding, for a lifelong connection with the earth.
3. SIMPLICITY AND MINDFUL CONSUMPTION
Here’s the thing: babies don’t need much. But the baby industry tries hard to convince us otherwise. Mountains of toys and endless “must-haves.” But we’re keeping it simple.
Her clothes are simply easy to mix and match. Her playground is an open space. She plays in every room. This way, she has more room to breathe. She may not be able to name it yet, but I know she feels it, the gentle rhythm of less.
She plays with everything (yes, even the wooden spoon and her cute silicon plate), not just store-bought toys. She doesn’t need constant novelty. She just needs space to explore.
The same goes for food. No fancy pouches or processed textures here. She’s happy with a little bowl of steamed carrots, peas, and pasta, simple, real food she can squish, mash, and nibble at her own pace. What I hope she’s learning, even now, is this: Enough is enough. Joy doesn’t come from more, it comes from meaning.
4. CONNECTION OVER DISTRACTION
I’ll admit it: sometimes, during playtime, my hand drifts toward my phone. Just for a second. A quick scroll. A reply. A glance. But she sees it. She may not say a word, but she feels the shift, when my attention drifts, when I’m only half-there.
So I pause. I try again. Phone down. Eyes on her. Because even without language, she’s deeply in tune. She knows when I’m really with her, and when I’m somewhere else.
At the playground, I make a point to connect. I say hi to other parents. Smile at the older kids who come over, curious and chatty. I want her to see how we can be open. Warm. Present. She watches, always. Learning.
And the beautiful thing? She mirrors it back. She lights up when her Kita friends run over. She smiles at strangers. She reaches out without fear, open to the world and the people in it. That openness, that ease, it starts here, in these early moments of real connection.
5. RHYTHM INSTEAD OF RUSH
I’ve spent most of my life rushing. Raised to go-go-go, I carried that energy into adulthood and into work, weekends, evenings, always on.
But now? I want my daughter to know life isn’t a race. It’s not about proving yourself with every move. It’s about being. Living. Sharing. Kindness. Care.
Since she started Kita, our daily rhythm has shifted. We don’t have long, slow mornings anymore, but we walk there, soaking up the city’s buzz, stopping to look at trees or passing bikes. Sometimes she dozes. Sometimes she sings. We move in rhythm, not in rush.
And after Kita, I’m with her. Fully. These routines are more than habit, they’re grounding. A soft structure that tells her: You’re safe. You belong. You don’t have to hurry.
FINAL THOUGHTS
The truth is, I don’t have all the answers to how to raise a conscious child. I’m figuring it out as I go, how to slow down in a fast world, how to choose what really matters.
But I do believe this: our babies are watching us, long before they understand our words. They feel how we live. They sense what we prioritize. They absorb our values through our actions.
She can’t speak yet, but she hears my tone. She watches how I cook, how I speak to strangers, how I pause (or don’t). In this fast-moving world, she’s become my anchor. And one day, I hope she’ll grow into someone who knows how to listen, slow down, and move through life with care.
Because that’s where consciousness begins.
