One hour people. That’s all I have. My mind’s racing. So much to write. One hour. Wait, what!?! 40 minutes. Crap. Okay. I can do this.
Currently listening to this and I recommend listening with headphones in to drown out other…. Noise. Their WHOLE album is awesome-sauce so I recommend a checkout.
Music in. ✅
Wine….uhhh…. In. ✅
Self appearance: reflecting real life. ✅
One hour is what I asked for…just for me. The strings I had to pull to get it? Let’s just say it was complicated. But alas, baby is safe with Grammy. Boys are having fun with daddy.
What to do with an hour? Come here of course. Focus. My mind has been COMPLETLY wrecked and scattered with everything going on and so many things to do. Laundry. Switching out kids clothes for bigger clothes. Storage. Boxes. More laundry. Switch out toys for other toys. Found HUGE box of baby toys. Big boys are more interested in them than baby is and baby still just wants to cling to me all day. Thank GOD for baby carriers!
Hey awesome site btw.
I find myself momsplaining all the time. What’s momsplaining? Here’s an entertaining explanation. I fall victim to acting the part of the victim all the time. It’s a weakness. I’m not proud of it. I hate it actually. What do I hate more, my fat knees or my tendency to try and make people realize how stressful my life is….yup the second one. Bar None. Why can’t I just shut up and keep on truckin!!?? Ugh.
So my momsplaining rant for today is that I haven’t had a moment to JUST be myself in…. Beep boop beep (calculating)… 3 weeks. Ok so that’s not that bad right? Think of the last time you got to poop alone. Was it today? Was it this week? If you said yes then you can go ahead and keep listening to my momsplaining.
My husband has only one week home this time around and then will be gone for 3 weeks. So out of 1 1/2 months we only get to be with him for one week. 7 days. Then it’s just me. Cue to my thought cloud picturing me putting on warpaint and shin guards. (Also to listening to a lot of this.)
I’m putting on my mommy armor people. Exaggerating? With two tackling boys and a teething baby there isn’t much exaggeration needed.
For the next three weeks I will be without my darling hubby to help me. I’ll be all alone on the front lines. Trying my best to keep it all together. Keep the jello from falling out of the colander while three little monkey gremlins shake it with delight, so to speak.
So I have an hour people. (Actually 8 min now gaaaah!) and what am I doing?
Three things I know about myself and refueling:
- I need to be held
- I need to be alone
- I need music
Touch fills my tank. And don’t make me ask for it, just hug me for longer than 5 seconds. Full me up.
I need number 2 and 3 together. The wine isn’t a must but it’s a freakin bonus. (So if you haven’t noticed by now I am a Christian AND I drink alcohol once in a while-just like Jesus did -yup- and I’m working on a blog post about that- more to come soon). I have to be alone to clean out teach shattered thought scraping my brain like sharp glass. And the music blows it away. Carries it like a crisp September breeze to the first fallen autumn leaves. Yes. There it is. My tank. Filling. And I drink it in so desperately.
Slowly now, momma, just slow down. Close those eyes and breathe. Feel your chest and stomach billow. You MUST find YOU in order to REALLY take care of those youngins and your lover. Build yourself up in a way that only YOU know how. Don’t apologize. Don’t feel guilty for doing it. Feel guilty for NOT doing it.
You don’t want to become zombie-mom. You know her. Dark, glazed eyes. Teary. Can’t handle spilled yogurt. Doesn’t know what she wants at the Starbuck’s drive up because no one has asked her what she has wanted in 2 weeks. Becoming her is common but dangerous. Don’t lose you. Find it. Take a moment. STEAL it if you must.
It’s importance is golden. Essential. Utterly fundamental. You have got to keep yourself to give yourself.
So go fill your tank.
We will thank you for it.