You know how we all get these epiphanies in our lives – which seem to come with greater frequency as we get older – when we realize how much our lives, expectations, and goals change? I think for most of us, it’s not necessarily an entirely happy epiphany. I’ve been having lots of these lately. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s in conjunction with a new year (although I’m a notorious scoffer about resolutions). Regardless, I feel like I’m having one of those mini-Renaissances we all seem to have from time to time. Some of it’s big things, some of it’s little things. I just hope it continues.
For instance, I am owning and recognizing how differently my style of parenting is than I ever would have thought. Hell, I never really thought about it until it was happening. If you had told me that I’d be all about attachment parenting and co-sleeping, I would have laughed while I punched you in the ear. Yet here I am. I guess this is a thing now as we’re having one of those internal domestic spats in which a portion of this is up for discussion. Essentially, Felix still likes to seek me out at night, usually around 4:00 AM. Some nights he looks for me much earlier. Some nights not at all. But in order not to disturb Will (and to allow the most uninterrupted sleep for the whole household), the Dude and I will snuggle on the couch until either I have to get up for work or the kids start stirring. Will hates it and thinks I should “pull the bandaid off.”
I don’t want to. I’ll admit: snuggling with my little boy is one of my greatest joys, and it’s one that is coming to an end fast. When he curls up against me, he’s all warmth and softness. There’s none of that rowdy, loud, “pew pew” little boy crap. He’s still my baby. So as far as I’m concerned, that bandaid can stay right where it is. I’ll even buy a new box.
Then there’s me. Like most moms, I’ve let myself go, big time. Not only is my appearance godawful, I haven’t done anything meaningful for and with myself in about 7 years. So I started another stint on the Whole 30 Plan on January 2nd. I have 11 more days to go. As hard as it is, it feels good to do it. I’m trying to move around more. I’m trying to take more care with my appearance. I read a book. One that I wanted to read just for fun. Y’all, that’s huge. I used to be a voracious reader. When Stella was born, that stopped. Sure, I managed to slowly claw my way through the Game of Thrones books, finishing the last one shortly after Felix was born, but that’s it. Everything else is either a kids book, a book on parenting, or stuff about groundwater contamination. So dagnabbit (Felix and I both are working on our swearing), I’m making time to read. I deleted a bunch of those goofy iPhone games which turn into obsessions and time sinks, yet yield nothing of value. I’m thinking about experimenting with some sewing projects. I’m knitting Stella a scarf.
And I/we need to shake off cobwebs and start doing more stuff – both productive and just for fun. Today I’m on absolute cloud 9: I managed to get Radiohead tickets for New Orleans. I used to adore going to concerts. I practically lived in New Orleans’ concert venues for about a decade. Now? I haven’t seen a concert since the Cure in 1998. I’ve gotten rid of most of my old beloved concert shirts. And dammit, I’m going to buy a Radiohead shirt. I don’t care what Will says.
I’ve got to get productive about being happy. I’m tired of just eking by.