Tag: time

my time

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I always stay up WAY too late. My husband is constantly telling me, “you need to get to bed early today. You’re so tired…don’t stay up to late tonight!” But the reality is, I need it. The time, the quiet, the wind-down. My kids are usually out by 8.30 each night. Then my husband and I sometimes eat if we didn’t eat with the kids (a few times a week, this is our way of having mid-week date nights; we put on a movie or a show and eat at our own pace, and talk). Then, it’s time to pick up the house, pack lunches, fold laundry, the usual.

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By the time ALL of that is done, it’s about 10. After that, you’ll find me in the bedroom, either sitting in bed with my laptop (like I am now) or sitting in my favorite chair. I usually don’t go to sleep until about 11.30 or midnight…and my alarm goes off around 6.20.

I wouldn’t trade it.  I know I’m probably getting an hour less of sleep each night. But without that time…without a few quiet minutes (or an hour) to myself, I don’t get a chance to just be ME.  Not mama, not a wife – just ME.

And isn’t that an important part of being whole? I LOVE my role. I love waking up every Saturday and making homemade pancakes or waffles for the family. Love taking my kids to their weekend activities. To birthday parties. To visit relatives.  But we all know that taking time for ourselves is critical to being our best selves. Yes, I do things for myself outside the home – an occasional girls night, mani pedis, etc. But the 60-90 minutes of sleep I may sacrifice recharges my batteries every day.

So yeah I may be a little tired the next morning. But, I know it also means I’m my best self.

 

He’s not a baby anymore

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I sat with my baby boy last night, rocking him while he had his bedtime milk.

As he sipped his milk in his tired state, I took a few minutes to look him over as I held him close.  I noticed his hair was coming in thicker…he was no longer my bald little baby.  I noticed his hands were getting bigger. He still has those chubby dimpled fingers, but as I stroked the back of his hand it just looked like it had grown.

I became conscious of how he fit differently against my body.  He was so long that his legs didn’t fit across my lap anymore. He felt more sturdy, more solid, more, well, like a little boy. I suddenly felt like I was holding not a baby, but a little boy.

I thought about the last time he had his milk in a bottle; it had been a couple of months. I thought about the last time he had a midnight feeding, with myself or my husband holding him with heavy lids and in a dazed state.  It had been so long, that although I was grateful we were getting more sleep, I missed it.

These days are going by so fast, it’s true what they say – that your second child seems to grow so much faster than your first. I feel like I’ve blinked and he’s 14 months old. And as I sat here holding him, rocking him, getting him ready for bed – I became aware that he’s not a baby anymore. He’s an official toddler, and I can see the boyhood emerging before my eyes.