So I started freaking out a little bit over how much of this blog has become mom-centric. I do this every once in a while. When things get too 1 topic-y I have a little panic about creating a well rounded space/life/lalala etc.
Because I definitely don’t think this is just a blog problem. It is reflective of what is happening in my pregnant/mom/wife/life world.
Last weekend was really hard. It was hard because I was disappointed, because I felt like I let people down, because I had to flip a switch in a matter of minutes regarding plans that had taken us months to cement in place, because Gabe was sick and it took both Kamel and I combined to handle everything that came with that, because it was boring, and because I am just human and it sucked. It was the last opportunity we’ll have to travel as a threesome. It was going to be Gabe’s first trip on a plane in his own seat. It was a trip to visit family that wasn’t for a holiday or a major family event. It was a rare thing.
On Saturday night we watched a cartoon movie we hadn’t seen before. This weekend was big on sitting around watching Gabe-appropriate TV and getting him to drink pedialite, water, and fizzy apple juices in small amounts. After the movie was over and we had put him to sleep I sat on the couch and cried. I cried the big cries. The ones that give you hiccups. I cried into Kamel’s sweatshirt and did not stop until I was completely done.
Why are you crying? Kamel asked me.
I just am, I said.
Sometimes I am sad. I used to have sad days when I didn’t have kids, I used to have sad days when I didn’t have a husband or a boyfriend. I could stay home and watch movies and eat Twix and hide. But, as a parent I don’t have that luxury. I do not get “me” days. I do not get to just be in a bad mood and wallow and watch Grey’s Anatomy and cry into my snickers bar, then dust myself off and continue on in my generally cheery way. Even when things are hard and exhausting, even when frustrating, bad, sad things happen. I don’t get to shut myself up in my bedroom and sit with it. Little hands find the door. Little voices with, “Mama… get UP!” I don’t get to make his life confusing because I need a day.
But we all need a day. Even when we don’t get one.
So I cried. Then I took a long, long, long hot shower, which is the opposite of every other day when my showers are 5 minutes long, max and I’m racing to get dressed between picking out a shirt for Gabe, between him eating half my breakfast, between forgetting my glasses and having to run back into the house to get them, between being pregnant and feeling crummy all of the time.
In order to be my best self I need more quiet time than I get. I need more time to think, to be alone and not tethered to so many other people.
We make due with what we have until we can’t make due anymore. Until we have to re-evaluated what is and isn’t work. Until we can schedule time to go outside alone and take a walk, or see a movie, or whatever.
This is hard. So much of my day to day involves the care and management of someone else. And I really don’t want to fuck him up. It means I have to be thoughtful a lot of the time, even when I don’t want to be thoughtful, even when I just want to come home and have a beer and eat spaghettios and not talk to anyone. My 2 year old doesn’t get that.
But I need to have it anyway. I need to have more Lauren time, somehow, in the not-enough-time-space-continuum of my life. Somehow I have to carve out a section now and again that is just me and no one else.