Shhhh . . . . . hear that? If you listen very carefully, you can hear my light bulb flickering on; shedding light on how I got in the grips of the funk.
Did you know that it is completely normal to long for adult interaction and a life outside of the confines of motherhood? You did!?! Well why the hell didn't you tell me?
Awareness is a wonderful thing, and I have received a whole heap in the last two days. I am self-aware to a fault. I can analyze myself to death. If I've learned anything in my adult life, it's that most of my problems start and end with me. That said, I honestly didn't see this coming.
I have had a pretty rough go of it since I quit work over a year ago to pursue higher education in a career I adore. There's something ingrained in me that tells me I'm useless unless I'm gainfully employed (thanks, Dad!). I remember anxiously awaiting Riley's arrival and relaying to my husband that I was ready for the baby to get here so I could feel as though I had a purpose, because school didn't do it for me. Surely being a new Mommy again would make me feel useful, right? That should have been red flag number one. Yeah, missed it.
There was a happiness study recently conducted among women that showed that women are more in love with idea of motherhood than motherhood itself. I had a fantasy in my head and numerous expectations of how fulfilled I would be caring for a baby. There are many, many joys to becoming a parent, don't get me wrong, but it is not my sole purpose in life. It is perfectly okay to seek fulfillment from other sources. Who knew? That just doesn't align itself with my fantasy and fell short of my unreasonable expectations. Thus me beating myself up and feeling completely guilty that caring for my baby isn't "enough" to fulfill me. I honestly thought there was something very wrong with me for wanting anything other than my sweet, happy, adorable baby 24/7.
I have been a Mom for over half my life--I am 35 years old. Yikes. Becoming a Mom at an early age has its pros and cons. Being self-aware, I can spout off numerous mistakes I made with my oldest two children. Some of them due to being young, naive, inexperienced, and just plain stupid at times. After all, I had fifteen years to study my errors--that's how long it's been since my middle child was born. When I found out I was pregnant last June, I promised myself I would not make the same mistakes with Riley. I was not going to carry the burden of regret this time around. At least not regret for the same mistakes. I have set this poor child up to be my purpose, my sunshine, and my redemption. Bless. His. Heart. And mine. However unknowingly, I brought this on myself. There is a physiological component to this debacle too, but I can see where I set myself up for a meltdown.
Although it's still blurry, a picture of me outside of Mommy is coming into focus. I have some idea of where to start in restoring some balance in my life. To get me back. Three days ago I was clueless with a solution nowhere in sight.
Blessed awareness. It is only in the light of awareness that I am truly humble, teachable, and ever-willing to explore new ideas.
Good enough, for now.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Miracle Moment
Ever have one of those days where everything seems to go in slow motion? You know, everything you do is a chore due to fatigue, illness, the blahs, whatever? That's where I've been for the last nine months.
I have written posts about my funk and have recently learned that my body is playing tricks on me and it's driving me--and subsequently my family--nuts.
I was having what is now a "normal" day. Trying my best to be the epitome of SuperMom and get my chores done so I could end my day and wind down. I was cleaning the kitchen after dinner and heard this coming from the living room . . . .
Trust me when I tell you, this is going on my gratitude list for today, because I have been unable to stop smiling since it happened. Priceless. Adorable. And much needed.
It is said that motherhood is a thankless job. True dat. In moments like this, I get all the thanks I need.
I have written posts about my funk and have recently learned that my body is playing tricks on me and it's driving me--and subsequently my family--nuts.
I was having what is now a "normal" day. Trying my best to be the epitome of SuperMom and get my chores done so I could end my day and wind down. I was cleaning the kitchen after dinner and heard this coming from the living room . . . .
Trust me when I tell you, this is going on my gratitude list for today, because I have been unable to stop smiling since it happened. Priceless. Adorable. And much needed.
It is said that motherhood is a thankless job. True dat. In moments like this, I get all the thanks I need.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Circadian Dysrhythmia
SLEEP IS SACRED. Period.
It has always been no less than a religious, precious commodity to me. My bed is my sanctuary. I have a sleep machine, sun-blocking curtains in my bedroom, and a fan. Ahhhh, a sanctuary indeed.
My haven of rest has become a source of anything but spiritual restoration as of late, as I have had quite unspiritual thoughts about what I am going to do to my spouse if he doesn't SHUT THE HELL UP WITH THAT SNORING! Half of my thoughts have not only been unspiritual, but some of them illegal. The man could wake the dead with all the noise he makes while sleeping.
"It's not like I do it on purpose. I can't help the fact that I snore!" And I can't help the fact that I can't sleep next to a damn buzz saw, now can I? It's probably a Mommy thing, but I am a light sleeper. Hence my wanting a bedtime divorce. Lastnight as I tried to calm myself from my rage and drift off to sleep, I fantasized of having a house big enough that he could have his own bedroom. On the opposite end of the house from mine. With soundproof walls.
It's true, he can't help it, and I know he doesn't do it intentionally. He knows he snores. He knows it keeps me up. Yet there's nothing done about it. Yes, he's tried strips and sprays. He even went to an ENT to have an eval after the sleep apnea test was negative. After months of me telling him, "There is something anatomically and structurally wrong with you. Normal people don't sound like that when sleeping." I was right. And after a surgery that has a 50/50 chance of working, it may reduce his snoring issue. If the odds were a little better, I would have suggested it a long time ago. Even if I had to turn tricks to finance it.
He works. At his job and here. I know he's tired and it's not exactly fair to expect him to sleep on the couch night after night. But, he does have the annoying ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere. I do not. So, it makes sense for him to sleep elsewhere, right? To my sleep-deprived brain, it makes perfect sense.
It makes even more sense after I rise from a fitful night of attempting to sleep and my beloved looks at me with this shit-eating grin and asks me how I slept. I can see why women end up on death row after serving their spouses a drink with a splash of cyanide. Sleep he will.
In the meantime, I'm headin' to Starbucks to get a quad latte and research whether temporary insanity secondary to sleep deprivation will hold up in court.
It has always been no less than a religious, precious commodity to me. My bed is my sanctuary. I have a sleep machine, sun-blocking curtains in my bedroom, and a fan. Ahhhh, a sanctuary indeed.
My haven of rest has become a source of anything but spiritual restoration as of late, as I have had quite unspiritual thoughts about what I am going to do to my spouse if he doesn't SHUT THE HELL UP WITH THAT SNORING! Half of my thoughts have not only been unspiritual, but some of them illegal. The man could wake the dead with all the noise he makes while sleeping.
"It's not like I do it on purpose. I can't help the fact that I snore!" And I can't help the fact that I can't sleep next to a damn buzz saw, now can I? It's probably a Mommy thing, but I am a light sleeper. Hence my wanting a bedtime divorce. Lastnight as I tried to calm myself from my rage and drift off to sleep, I fantasized of having a house big enough that he could have his own bedroom. On the opposite end of the house from mine. With soundproof walls.
It's true, he can't help it, and I know he doesn't do it intentionally. He knows he snores. He knows it keeps me up. Yet there's nothing done about it. Yes, he's tried strips and sprays. He even went to an ENT to have an eval after the sleep apnea test was negative. After months of me telling him, "There is something anatomically and structurally wrong with you. Normal people don't sound like that when sleeping." I was right. And after a surgery that has a 50/50 chance of working, it may reduce his snoring issue. If the odds were a little better, I would have suggested it a long time ago. Even if I had to turn tricks to finance it.
He works. At his job and here. I know he's tired and it's not exactly fair to expect him to sleep on the couch night after night. But, he does have the annoying ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere. I do not. So, it makes sense for him to sleep elsewhere, right? To my sleep-deprived brain, it makes perfect sense.
It makes even more sense after I rise from a fitful night of attempting to sleep and my beloved looks at me with this shit-eating grin and asks me how I slept. I can see why women end up on death row after serving their spouses a drink with a splash of cyanide. Sleep he will.
In the meantime, I'm headin' to Starbucks to get a quad latte and research whether temporary insanity secondary to sleep deprivation will hold up in court.
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