here’s the thing about me: i’m a terribly impulsive person. i get these ideas in my head (hey! i miss our old house, let’s move back there. oh! i really want to learn how to crochet, please excuse me while I spend $25 at hobby lobby stocking up on supplies i’ll never use) and they get stuck there, like glue. they don’t budge.
that is until someone (usually my husband brings me back down to earth).
i did recently express my serious desire to move back to our old house. it was where our love story began. it is our taste. we own it. its size is more manageable. it’s closer to dom’s parents. i was so caught up in everything that our current house wasn’t, forgetting why i fell in love with it and moved here in the beginning.
i was drowning in this need to move back to north las vegas, even though we have the absolute ideal rental situation there, even though we much prefer the area of town we are now in. i was drowning, and needed to hear that it just wasn’t going to happen. once i overheard those words from my husbands lips (in a casual situation amongst friends), and knew it wasn’t an option, i stopped struggling. my feet touched ground again. i took in great big gasps of air.
having children significantly dampens ones ability to be impulsive. there are schedules to be adhered to, bills to be paid by a now one income household. the time and effort that it takes to take a baby anywhere certainly makes me question whether or not I really need to go to target again this afternoon.
and yet. this impulsivity isn’t going to just fade away. it’s a part of me as much as my brown hair and eyes are.
what i need is to find a way to channel the energy. to put it to good use.
the high school version of me would pour it into writing her next short story or poem. the very-nearing-30-years-old version of me hasn’t the foggiest clue where to go from here. there are only so many minutes in each day, and only a handful of those are baby free.
we all live in these moments, where we aren’t doing well, where we aren’t in the best place. we all get through them and climb out on the other side.
some days i feel like i’ve done so very little (beyond raising that little bean of mine). getting up in the morning and pouring a cup of coffee almost feels like too much to take on.
no one talks about this side of being a mother. or at least if they are, i’m not within earshot. no one tells you that you can be the most bored you’ve ever been, but the busiest at the same time. no one tells you that you may not be the type of woman who is satisfied and fulfilled by giving all their time to their child. no one tells you that it’s okay for you to love your child more than life itself, but still want to go back to work.
for the longest time i used to think that getting in a half hour bubble bath with a glass of wine at the end of the day meant you were living the life. if your husband loved you and you slept together often, if your children were healthy and growing and learning, if you had family nearby to spend time with, if you had a roof over your head and food on the table, hobbies to keep you content; well then you had it made, let me tell you.
so what’s missing?
sure, i’m chugging along. slower than others, but at least i’m moving.
impulsive-nearing-thirty-years-old me is freaking the hell out. where is the balance in life? when does it get easier? when do i stop feeling like no matter what i do, it’s not enough?