Then: allofasuddentheyaregrownupandgone, POOF. Like snapping your fingers. Bring your kleenex to h.s. graduation. That's when it will hit you, in full force.
I want one more "little kid" day. I grin big at the 3-4 year olds at my home mountain. Those days are over for me.
They're never coming back.
Think about it.
Trade ya....
MSL, this really hits the nail on the head for me right now. I have reached a point where I am really struggling, emotionally for the right balance.
Just now the kids
can be very frustrating and exhausting and make it difficult to exercise (or pee or eat or get the mail, lol), especially when DH is gone, which is most of the time.
. . . and yet. . .
I look at my 4yo, and he doesn't even resemble the baby I gave birth to in January 2004. He's still my dear, sweet, talkative (and thankfully, cuddly) boy. But he's
big. Not next year, but the year after (which will be here so very soon), he will be in school five days a week. Kindergarten, to be sure, but school, five days a week. It boggles the mind.
And the little one, oh the little one. Not much more than a year ago, he was like a loaf of bread. Just lying there. Doing nothing but feeding and sleeping and pooping. And now he is running. Crashing into walls. Touching fireplaces.
Signing, and trying to speak more than his current handful of guttural *words.* He's on his way to big, too. Certainly no longer a baby, and only a toddler for such a short time.
I have learned, as all mothers do, that time is different when there are babies in the house. Time is slow some days. Slower than you thought it could be. Slow to the point of not moving, when the baby has colic or everyone has an intestinal virus. But the vast majority of days pass in the blink of an eye. A month gone. A year. And I know that one day (and it will be soon), I will wake up and 15 or 20 years will have passed, and my babies will be so far from babyhood I will have difficulty remembering their warm, bare skin; their toothless grins; and their tentative, waddling walks. I love babyhood. So much so that I desperately wanted a third, right away, before I *came to my senses* a month or two ago.
So all of this is a long winded way of saying that I am a contradiction. I cherish my alone time. There are days when I crave hours of workout or hours of reading or spa services or quiet. There are many, many days when I (more than)
desperately want to feel that marvelous sense of fatigue that only comes from a good day skiing or a long hike or several hours in the gym. And I go slightly crazy because I can't have it. That sort of physical intensity has always been a very integral part of who I am. Not the mother me, but just the heart of
me.
But then, when I do get the *time off* on some sort of regular basis, I feel the motherly guilt/sadness/confusion about choosing enough time for a *real* workout over lying on the floor with blocks and crayons and blanket forts. Those things, while sometimes exhausting, don't last very long. And I recognize, even on days when I wish I could throw
The Very Hungry Caterpillar across the room, rather than reading it
one more time, that in 5 or 10 or 15 years, I will be looking back with nostalgia. . . and wondering why I didn't read the book again.
So it's not that I feel guilt every time I work out, but rather that it's difficult enough and sometimes guilt-inducing enough to get a real, solid, long, heart-pounding workout that I usually only end up getting a mediocre workout. And it's hard to motivate for the mediocre workout. . . and so I don't always motivate. Or I feel crappy because I only had the half-hearted 45min on the elliptical trainer.
I want both. The physical exhaustion AND the glorious mommy exhaustion. And I am not sure it's possible without the live-in help we can't afford and I am not sure I would want anyway.
Did that make any sense? And is it long-winded enough for you all?