Pssst. Can you keep a secret? If you read this, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone. If the mommy police got a hold of this post, I might be kicked out of the Club forever. Not that I’m really in it (I think you have to survive the first year before you get a badge), but…
Here it goes. Lean in, because I can’t say this very loud.
Sometimes I miss the days when I wasn’t a mommy. When I was just me, Amber, crazy ass bitch, wife and daughter, but not mommy.
There, I said it. And I haven’t been struck down by lightning. Yet. Is anyone still reading? Or did you all click the close button in disgust?
Don’t get me wrong, I love me my little Tori so much I could eat her whole, and I can’t imagine life without her. But I remember life without her. And it had its pluses…
For instance, in the times B.T., Sundays found me lazing around in bed until 10, maybe 11. Then I’d maybe go for a run. Or maybe make some insanely decadent breakfast treat. Or just make my way down to the couch and read for an hour or three.
These days? By 1o, I’ve been up for hours. I’ve made bottles, washed dishes, fed animals, sang songs, danced around the house, rinsed myself off with the shower hose, then went back to making bottles…
It’s not very restful, Internet.
You know what else I used to be able to do on the weekend? Anything I damn well wanted to. My gardens got weeded, my toenails got painted, my wardrobe got updated…I even had time to shave my legs (a major feat these days).
Now? My hours of free time are measured in the increments of naps. And those? Aren’t very long periods of time.
You know what else I never really appreciated? The freedom to collapse after a long day at the office. I’ll tell you what, this week kinda kicked my butt. By the time I got home, I was exhausted. Not just garden variety tired. No. Exhausted. So tired my bones ached.
So did I get to take a nap? No. That would be a big fat no. I did everything but. Because on top of all the chores that need doing, there’s Tori. And I only get to spend like three hours a day with her. So when I’m home and she’s awake? It’s all about her.
No matter how tired I am.
I don’t know. I’m sure eventually I’ll forget how nice it was to be able to relax. To sit outside on a summer evening and listen to the crickets, without wondering if my baby’s still breathing.
But now? My baby’s crying. Naptime’s over, and so is this blog post.