I feel silly.
It’s just like junior high, only without hair-sprayed bangs.
The funny part is there’s a good chance that my sister is the only one that will even know I “linked-up” to something.
I hope I do it right.
Blue-Eyed Bride is hosting, along with three other bloggers, the third in a series of posts about building each other up, and who couldn’t use a little of that? This week is about remembering yourself in the midst of motherhood…or any other life-altering, all-consuming stage a girl might be going through.
These are my thoughts, along with a few pictures of the roads leading to and from Piedmont. Because all roads leading to Piedmont are happy roads. And all roads leading from Piedmont on your way to work are laden with tractors and construction.
At 31, I had my baby. This was a little late by most standards, which means I had plenty of time to watch friends and cousins get pregnant, have babies, and disappear into the misty jungle of diapers and bottles and pack n’ plays.
I really took note of the mamas that made time for date nights, vacations without kids, and girls’ nights out. I thought, “Yah, that’s probably what I’m gonna do. That looks like a really smart idea.”
Except I don’t.
Not because my brain doesn’t know it’s smart to get some away time. Not because I don’t have grandmas and grandmothers and aunts that would love to babysit. Not because I don’t have a husband that would gladly keep the baby and make it happen for me.
It’s because I can’t. It hurts my heart. It’s so very, very HARD. I work, so I’m already away from her somewhere around 40 awake hours a week. FORTY. That’s a lot of hours.
That’s too many hours.
So when I’m not at work and could be having a vacation or a girls’ night out or a date night, I don’t.
That’s when it kind of hit me that all those mamas I watched having time away from their babies are stay-at-home mamas. They need those breaks like they need air and toilet paper. That’s their ONLY break.
I already get a break every weekday when I get on the road for my commute to work. I might listen to music or a book on CD. Or I might listen to NOTHING. To blessed silence. All the long way to the big city.
And then I work hard and make hay while the sun shines.
Which means I get as many errands done on my lunch hour as humanly possible, so that when 5:00 rolls around, I am SPRINTING to the parking lot. I gotta get home. The clock is ticking down the minutes of awake time I get before bedtime.
So yah. The “me time” isn’t necessarily always fun and relaxing, as a rule. Plowing through Target for dog food and toothpaste, standing in line for stamps, hauling horse feed from Coop, and waiting at the bank drive-thru isn’t quite the same as going to the movies or drinking fruity drinks over chips and salsa, but it’s what you make it, right?
So I listen to music and books while I drive. I play on my phone when I’m sitting in parking lots. I take plenty of car naps on the days when there are no errands. I sit and read. I sit and write. I talk to my husband or my sister or my mama or my baby on the phone. I spend $1.07 at Wendy’s and get a chocolate frosty.
Why does it feel illegal to sit in a vehicle and eat ice cream by yourself?
After re-reading this, I might possibly start running circles around the suburban, too, to work off ice cream calories.
But let’s not hold our breath on that one.
Sometimes, I just sit and stare out the windshield.
Thankfully, it’s a rare occasion that I’m staring at the business end of a shredder.