On my birthday back in June, I got my hair cut for the first time since my wedding in 2009. Last night, my husband helped me dye it a lovely shade of shocking red.
I’m having these moments lately where I take a step out of myself and say, “This is my life.”
Routine. Routine. Play with the baby. Furiously try to have “me” time during naps. Spouse time after baby is in bed. Go to bed. Do it all again the next morning.
Most of the time, I’m fine with that. There’s a peace in my soul about my life and what I’m doing and the mom I am and the wife I am. I may not be the world’s greatest at any of them but I do my best and my best is fine with everyone. Especially me.
Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE my life. I love everything about it and everyone in it. However, being in love with something doesn’t mean it’s always perfect. That would be boring.
Sometimes, I’m not okay with The Now. I think of my mental dreams and to-do lists and a depression takes a hold of me. ”I only have X hours a day to myself IF she naps and what am I doing with that time? It’s not enough to do Y or Z.”
“I’ll try to finish it tomorrow.” My mantra lately. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Someday. Tick Tock. Tomorrow.
So I try, on those days, to work on SOMETHING. And I have my long-term goals and plans.
Writing.
Crochet.
Sewing.
Paying off debt which leads to getting our own place.
Having another baby.
One all leads to another in my mind and it’s that end result – the bigger family and our own home – that my soul really yearns for. So the meanwhile is filled with crafts and writing and trying to cram as much of it into the naptimes as I can. The rest is spent watching this little person grow and discover and speak and walk and run and NEED me all.the.time.
It’s exhausting.
And fantastic.
And scary.
And unknown.
And moving too.damn.slowly.
Sometimes.
