I’ll sleep when I die. There are 24 usable hours in
everyday. Coffee. Coffee. More Coffee.
This can pretty accurately describe my 20’s up until this
point. People often joke about how little sleep they get and give the
impression that they are thriving in this culture of staying up late and
working till they drop. I thrived in this. But now? Now I have a little lesson
in a bundle of hunger named Owen Dominic.
Our newest bundle of joy is much like our 2 year old was as
a baby. Great sleeper. Pretty content unless he is hungry. But the difference
is that Owen is seemingly ALWAYS hungry. We have upped his formula, burped him,
held him, fed him more often, prayed that the good Lord would calm this
bottomless pit of a baby so that Mommy can get some sleep.
There have been days lately where I feel like I am not in my
body. My 2 year old needs milk NOW and Team Umizoomi before he has a meltdown.
My 13 year old needs help figuring out how to do his homework without him
actually having to do his homework. My husband needs 30 cookies and peanut
butter fudge by 7am tomorrow. I have 15 emails and 6 facebook notifications
relating to work that need answered yesterday. It’s that feeling when you walk
from one room to the next and, for a moment, don’t remember where you just came
from. The girl who once lived for the night now just lives for a good night’s
sleep and a place to hide. I am tired. Mentally, Physically, Emotionally,
Spiritually.
I sit here writing
this at 1 am in the company of my beautiful baby boy, pondering where this
concept of “me” has gone. I have begun to realize that not only have I given up
my sleep for my little ones, but I have given up a lot of myself. Now don’t get
me wrong: I love my boys with all of my heart, every single ounce of my being.
I have heard the phrase, “I would give my life for my family,” many times and
relate to the sentiment, but have usually visualized this in my head as myself
taking a bullet or stepping in front of a bus for one of them or some other
life threatening event that will likely never occur for me to prove myself. But
in moving from two kids to three, going into my 28th year of life, I
have realized that I HAVE given my life for my boys. Every part of me has
become them.
My wonderful husband prompted me a few weeks ago to go have
some “me” time. So I went grocery shopping. Yep. Grocery Shopping. Because I am
400 years old. When I got back, he was almost angered and exclaimed that
grocery shopping was not “me” time. I asked him to provide me with a firm
definition next time. I assure you that grocery shopping is not my idea of a
good time, but I had no clue what “me” time looked like anymore.
What IS my “idea of a good time?” What do I even like to “do
for fun” anymore? What is this fun you speak of? “Me” was my boys. IS my boys.
They are my life. My idea of a good time is being with them. Making sure they
are happy. They are my joy. They are all of me. But this, mommies everywhere,
THIS is not healthy. THIS is not ok. THIS is the beginning of a million tragic
stories of resentment, depression, and loneliness.
My husband, in his infinite “me” time wisdom, pointed out
that I used to write and that I was really good at it at one point. That I used
to sing. I played guitar. I used to lead worship. I had people that actually
asked, sometimes even paid me to do all of these things! I used to just go to Starbucks, (not just for
my coffee addiction contrary to popular belief) just to read, spend time with
God and be inspired in these creative avenues. I can’t remember the last time I
wrote. I can’t remember the last time I sang. I work in ministry and cannot
remember the last time I’ve even been in worship, more less been a part of
leading it.
My boys need me. And I need them. My heart is filled by
their joy and the meeting of their needs. As we speak, Mr. Owen Dominic is
chewing frantically on his hand, looking at me as if to say, “Fix me, woman!”
My boys will always need me. It is ok for me to love them and want to be with
them and even be considered a devoted wife and mother. But that cannot be ALL
that I am. I am a good mom. I am a good wife. A lot of the time, I am great at
both of these things. But my boys need ME. Not a reflection of their needs and
wants. They need the me who is whole. The me that is fulfilled in the areas of
my life that make me who I am. They need a mom who writes, sings, smiles, and
meets with God daily. My husband needs a wife whose confidence radiates and whose
smile allows him to feel comfort that he is a good spouse and remind him of the
woman he fell in love with and why he chose me. So this year, I resolve to get
back to “me.” To do the things that make me who I am. I will still give of
myself to my family, but I first must make sure that I have enough “me” to give
and still be fulfilled. Starting with
writing this entry and then I will resolve to stay true to my word. That, and
feed this baby. And have a nap. J
