I have been in a funk lately. Maybe it's because I've seen Husband a total of 24 hours at best over the past three weeks. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted from being six months pregnant and taking care of my very active two and half year old while Husband has to travel for work. Maybe it's because the "nursery" is still the guest room/laundry room and I have no clue when I will have the time or energy to get it all done. Maybe it's because I bought string cheese last week that expires AFTER my due date. Maybe it's because C is convinced there are dinosaurs in her room and incidentally refuses to sleep with the lights off, waking up multiple times throughout the night to tell me about it. Maybe it's because there is never enough time or enough money or enough patience.
Maybe I'm just being dramatic. Maybe I'm just letting all the little things pile up and drag me down. Regardless, I'm tired, I'm anxious, and I'm losing my cool.
So, tonight, I'm sitting down for a few minutes to write about it, even thought I still have to pack C's lunch for tomorrow and pack Husband for this week's travels. Because, after watching a poetry reading online today, I was reminded of what makes me happy - writing. I haven't let myself write lately because something else always seems more pressing than my sanity. I have errands to run and laundry to do and a very cute little girl begging me to stop cleaning the kitchen and come dance in the living room (which I do). I forget to count myself as a person instead of something else on my to-do list. I forget to give myself a break, even if it is disguised as a decaf latte and current pop music while C naps in the car.
I forget that I matter too. I think that's pretty easy to do as a mother. It's not intentional. I realize I'm a person outside of my role as mother and wife, but there isn't always time for me. I can't leave whenever I feel like it and grab a drink with friends. I can't just go for a morning run to clear my head. I can't be spontaneous. There are calendars to coordinate and babysitters to hire and prepping for said babysitters to be done, all while feeling guilty for leaving in the first place.
But this weekend saved me from myself.
I spent two hours Friday night at dinner with friends. Two whole hours. We laughed and caught up and shared ridiculous college stories and I began to feel whole again.
Saturday, while Husband was in Tuscaloosa for the Bama game, I called a friend and asked if she wanted a latte, I drove to her house, and then, as C woke up from her car nap, we scheduled an impromptu park date. It was exactly what we needed. C got to play with her friends and I got to talk to mine. The stay at home mom world can be a lonely place. Yes, I get to spend my days playing, but sometimes I just need to vent to someone else who understands the stress involved. Sometimes, I need to use big words and laugh at myself and relish in the knowledge that I'm not in this alone.
Sunday, I helped host a baby shower for my sweet friend and was able to spend time with some of my favorite women, including C and my mom (who let C sleep on her for two hours during the shower).
Ladies, because of you, I found a little piece of myself this weekend. I found the renewed strength I so desperately needed. I am still tired and anxious and so unprepared to welcome a new life into this home; but I'm also happy and I'm no longer losing it when C colors on the kitchen floor or feeds her dinner to Banks.
And because I have pregnancy brain and can no longer remember anything, I thought I needed a little reminder, at least for the next three months:
I put it on the fridge. No way I'm missing it there.