Sometimes, I'll think, No, don't let her play with that! It'll just be another mess! And then, I think, But, she's 15 months old. It's unbelievably fun for her to remove all the pans and lids and bags of rice and pasta and Q-tips and books. Just don't let her tear anything open; we might never recover from that...
Sometimes, she puts things back IN. That's awesome.
And sometimes, I do forbid her to, say, gnaw on a still-wrapped stick of string cheese or play with my laptop or climb the stairs alone or chew on our furniture. (Teething? Yes.) I do intervene when necessary. I don't want a child without a sense of boundaries. Today, she wept dramatically when (after 45 minutes of playing on it) I finally removed the step stool so I could, erm, venture further away from her than 6 inches (lest she fall when I step away; you know they always fall as soon as you step away) and I felt like a cruel mother.
But then, I thought, Sorry kiddo - Momma's gotta function, too!
And when, after she's in bed, and I tiredly walk back downstairs, and I see everything strewn all over, in every room... I seriously wonder how that's even possible. Did I not just spend my entire day cleaning up behind her? What is all this? Where did it come from?!
It's 8:22 p.m. Dinner is in the crockpot, and I expected to feel all accomplished. Husband won't be home for another while; there's a training exercise happening on base. I was going to fry him some potatoes, too, just the way he likes them - but that takes time and I haven't even used the bathroom all afternoon.
I only have one child. How can this feel so heavy? I'm fortunate enough to stay at home all day. Why can't I manage my time better? I tried so hard all day - is it even possible to find balance between the repetitive tasks (dishes, laundry, floors, bathrooms, email, groceries, coupons, meals) and the extra goals I set (writing, making photo books, assembling her baby book, bringing meals to neighbors, working out)?
It's moments like these when I'm not even sure what to do. Should I play piano and take a few deep breaths? Do several yoga poses and just calm down? Or fly around my house and try to fry potatoes and turbo clean so that it doesn't look SO bad when he gets home? So that it looks like I really, actually did something all day? So that *I* can feel like there's a justified reason for my weariness at 8:29 p.m.?
And I even took a nap today. Maybe that was my fatal misstep. Cannot afford to sleep. Clearly.
Deep breath. Wipe off the bathroom sink. Pick up the pots and pans and lids. Put the diapers back in a stack. Eat the bits of rejected banana. Chop potatoes. Heat the pan. Remember to write and mail that check for your makeup order. Take ibuprofen. Rinse the plates. Pray. No, really - stop and pray.
My brain started singing Trace Adkins. "You're gonna miss this. You're gonna want this back. You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast..."
And I started to get a grip.
I'm thankful that she's alive enough to cry. Secure enough to express all these emotions. Able to climb and crawl and grab. Curious enough to explore. Developmentally normal enough to get bored.
I'm grateful that teething doesn't last forever. That I can spend my days with her, nurturing her, teaching her, managing our home, making it a (hopefully) happy place. That I have a loving husband coming home tonight.
And that insomnia is not a current problem for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment