The house is clean. The kids are in school. The dogs are sleeping. It is so quiet that I can hear the hum of the refrigerator. I actually have time to sit and write. I'm sure that if I thought, even for a
second, that I could come up with something that needs to be done. But instead I am opting for
"me" time. Why is it
that when you become a mother, you can't do this without feeling guilty? Is it a good thing or a bad thing? I can't quite decide.
I love it that I no longer crave a mid-day nap.
Yet, that used to be my favorite indulgence. I appreciate that my house tends to be tidy. Yet, I used to take pride in the fact
that I could let myself relax even if it wasn't. Now I can only unwind when everything is put away and order
is restored. We used to eat out,
pick up or order in all the time. Now that seems like chaos and, instead,
cooking and cleaning up after seems easier.
I used to wish the evenings away so that we could
put the kids to bed. Now, I glance
at the clock and wonder where the night went? I used to pray that one day our girls would learn how to
talk. Now I find myself wondering if they're ever going to stop. I used to want to keep every piece of artwork
that the kids ever made. Now, I
carefully select the masterpieces and sneak the rest into the
trash.
I used to think I looked my
best in a pair of high-heels. Now, I'm happiest in flats. I used to
eat an entire bag of chips, and feel as though I deserved them. Now I eat only a few at a time, and then
suffer from lingering guilt. I
used to kill every plant that ever got near me. Now, I have a green enough thumb that even my step-dad trusts
me to babysit his plants.
I used to smother Tucker with
affection and feel frustrated that he wasn't a lap-dog. Now he is ignored most of the time and
won't leave my side. I used to complain that Craig didn't talk enough.
Now I am impatient with his rambling and tell him to get to the point.
I used to take pleasure in mindless television shows, because I could
turn off my brain while I watched them. And now I prefer a quiet room and
my computer, because I like to hear myself think.
When I grew up, I couldn't wait
to leave my small town. Now I
often find myself longing for the simplicity of little old Edon. I used to avoid eating fish at all costs
because I hated it. Now, I am training myself to tolerate it because I know
it's good for me. I used to be the
loudest one at the party. Now I
prefer to sit back and let someone else wear that hat. I used to want to stand out. Now I like to blend in.
I used to like to argue,
because I knew I could win. But now I often bite my tounge, because I see
no point in the battle.
It's funny, isn't it? How we
change? How we grow? I had no idea where I was going with this blog when I
started writing it. But now I get it.
Just yesterday, I said to
Craig: "You have lived with me for 12+ years. How can you not know this
about me?"
I can't remember why I said it. It could have been
for a number of reasons. Maybe he put his bowl on the top rack of the
dishwasher, instead of the bottom rack like I prefer. Maybe he didn't give
Tucker and Bella fresh water when he fed them, like I prefer. Maybe he was
joyfully singing at the top of his lungs in the morning, instead of being quiet
and near-grumpy, like I prefer. Maybe he left only one pillow on the bed for
me, instead of leaving me two, like I prefer.
Whatever the case, I am constantly evolving and
changing. So, maybe I need to be more patient with him for "not knowing
me" when it's pretty obvious that I'm still figuring myself out, too.
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