On Motherhood and the Rest Of Me
A friend texted me a few weeks ago and I’ve been meaning to text her back. I mean, I could take the time right now to reply to her, but she truly deserves more than a text. She needs an apology for the delay and a dinner and probably an hour of holding my baby like I know she wants to do.
It’s easy to blame things on the baby. People expect you to be late and frazzled and walk around your house with dirty laundry and toys strewn about.
But that’s not our life. I’m blessed with a VERY good baby and a husband who is extremely supportive. We are able to pass her between each other as we share the duties of cooking dinner, washing dishes, and sorting laundry. Scout is content to sit propped up in bed and watch me get ready every morning. Our life is reminiscent of our old life, just with more diapers.
But I know a lot of this is due to the fact that my life doesn’t extend beyond that these days; we’ve fallen into a schedule of regular feedings and walks and bedtimes. Anything (and anyone) that threatens to change that schedule makes me nervous. I’m hesitant to make plans or return phonecalls or…reply to texts. We have a clean house, a happy baby, and all of that seems to hang by a thread.
And yet I feel pressured to assure everyone that I am still me. I have gone out to dinner with girlfriends a couple times, but I feel weird being the only one not ordering a drink (I don’t have anything against BFing mothers who drink, but it’s my personal choice not to). I make conscious efforts to talk other things besides being a mom and my baby. I cringe when I notice how long Ben has been alone with Scout.
But it’s only been three months, so I’m trying not to beat myself up. My priorities are in the right places, and I will have plenty of time to get my drink on when Scout is fourteen and her pierced nose drives me to the bottle.
