I am one year into a new relationship.
I am eight months into having my first child.
I am three months into a different job.
I am one hour into the epiphany that I have become a monstrous mess of a mommy.
I find myself constantly micromanaging every minute, hour, and second of my time so I can be everything to everyone.
Nighttime is my worst vice.
I reject sleep these days to accomplish what I haven’t gotten done during the day.
Normal people sleep at least a solid 5 hours; I stupidly choose the routine of up and down all night.
Packing lunches at 10pm, midnight laundry, 2am bottles, 3am coffee and toast for Dylan, 4am shower for me, and occasionally a 5am bottle before I’m off to work at 6am.
I am proud to say that I work in a Deli. It’s an unwanted badge of honor that I proudly wear.
Nobody wants to work in that department. Its physically and mentally exhausting.
Frequently unobtainable deadlines, rude customers, never ending work, and a pace that’s impossible to keep up with.
But, I really don’t mind, because for eight hours of the day I don’t have time to think about anything other than working my butt off so that I can hopefully get promoted to full time.
After work, I smell, I’m sweaty, and sticky, and my feet feel like they will fall off.
All I want is a nice long hot shower.
BUT instead I am off for my 20 minute drive to get my baby girl.
I remember as a kid promising to always make time for my children, thinking I’d never be to exhausted to play with them.
Ignorance is bliss.
My daughter is a handful.
She has the energy of two kids and the same kind of curiosity that killed the cat.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her to pieces.
She is clever, adorable, and a sweetheart; I wouldn’t change that girl for anything.
I just wish I had the energy to keep up with her.
I wish I had the energy to enjoy my time with her instead of wishing she would fall asleep or grow up.
By the time I get her home, she’s all napped out and she’s only happy playing or taking a long walk.
Feed her dinner, sometimes a bath, etc..
No resting time for mommy.
Then its time for my dinner and ‘sleep.’
Where is the time for me?
The time for my daughter?
The time for my relationship?
The time for my ever-fading friendships?
For my goals and dreams and desires?
I have turned into my mother.
Help me find my way back?