Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Will you just listen to me? I have some things I need to get off my chest.
It's January 9, and my tree is still up. I'm not the least bit apologetic about it.
It's January 9 and I haven't made any resolutions/goals for 2013. At least on paper. I'm gonna do it, I promise. But not today.
I am constantly torn between wanting my kids to grow up and stay small. It's like the war of Selfish Mommy versus Loving Mommy. Loving Mommy always wins. But sometimes, Selfish Mommy just wants to eat a meal while it's hot. Or take a nap when she's sleepy. Or read a magazine the month it comes out. Or even the year it comes out.
I don't feel like a dork anymore for treating a grocery trip alone like a spa day.
Sometimes I really worry that I'm doing something my kids will end up in therapy for one day.
I hear people who don't have kids talk about how "busy" or how "tired" they are, and I have to fight the urge to laugh out loud. And then I remember that I didn't have a child for 7 years and tired is tired, regardless of why you're tired. The difference in no-kids tired and kids-tired is when it's kids-tired, you usually get interrupted from your rest when you finally get some and your tired carries over to tomorrow like minutes on a cell phone rollover plan.
I throw away alot of things that my daughter probably intended to land on my fridge door. I mean, really. How many rainbows with stick people can a metal appliance hold? I'm pretty sure all our magnets are interfering with something Nasa is trying to do to bring world peace.
I go on alot of mental cruises, trips to the mountains, and just hotels in wherever with giant fluffy beds and cold dark quiet rooms.
I hold my breath every month. You know what I mean.
I find myself with Baby Einstein playing for who knows how long, and Walker isn't even in the room. Or even on my side of the house.
I also find myself whistling the melodies that I know by heart from the instrumental classical music on Baby Einstein like I used to hum songs from the radio.
I do a happy dance when bedtime comes every night. At least in my mind. Even if they've been super angelic and perfect. I never dread bedtime. Never. Ever.
My heart leaps when I hear that little "bah-dah-bah-mama" spoken over the baby monitor around 7:00 am.
I have actually worn more makeup and fixed my hair more since I had baby 2 than before I even had baby 1. I think it's a mind trick to make me feel less "mom jean" ish.
When I have my sister's boys in public and someone asks "how old my boys are" or says that "my" kids are beautiful, I agree with them.
I have never loved my husband more than I do right this second.
I seriously fantasize about my boy and his cousins playing football and I hope all the time they don't choose baseball.
For some reason, the thought of Abi as a teenager makes my stomach turn way worse than my baby boy becoming one.
Nothing makes me happier than cooking dinner while the bustle of the afternoon/evening is happening around my feet and at my kitchen bar.
I spend way more time than is practical staring at my kids' faces.
I literally can't remember what I did all day before I had kids. But it sure felt important while I was doing it.
I can't figure out my body since I gave birth again. It's like reading a map to a city I went to a long time ago but every landmark has changed and every single street is now a one way street and I need to get over to the other side of the block.
I talk to Walker about ALOT of things that I'm glad he can't understand yet. He keeps really good secrets, and like the typical man, doesn't say much back when I gripe or gossip.
I still find myself spelling words in front of my almost nine year old, like I used to when I didn't want her to know what I was talking about. I flew through a long spelling the other day, and she never looked up from the iPad and said the word I spelled.
I am not the least bit humble about how beautiful my kids are.
When I get a night off/an early bedtime for the kids/a random chance to do whatever I want for hours, I never choose girlfriend time.
I discipline other people's kids in my mind every time I go out in public. Like a whole role play scenario in my mind. For real.
I kiss my kids wayyyyyy more than the average mom does, apparently. And my poor nephews have to suffer through it too. I ain't sorry.
I throw away ALOT of toys from my daughter's room that she never knows about.
There are too many bowls of Lucky Charms consumed in our house than crunchy moms would think is acceptable.
I have never made a single thing of homemade baby food in my entire life.
I wasn't the least bit sad my milk supply was so pathetic with both of my kids and I "had" to use formula early.
I cannot-- CAN. NOT. go to sleep with a dirty kitchen at night.
I literally wonder how many times I hear, "Mom, watch!" or, "Mom, look!" in a 12 hour period.
And there are more times than I can ever document or count when I think I need someone to pinch me. That after years of trying. Struggling. Wanting. Needing. Imagining. Dreaming. Hoping. Hurting. These kids are mine. And that man is mine. And this is our life. It's a reality I never dread waking up to. And a reality I never regret as I close my eyes at night.
My last confession today?
I am totally convinced that I am the most favored woman God ever conceived. Ever. And always.