I was feeling kind of blue today. Maybe it was the hard gray skies that have descended on the city. Maybe it’s the fact that I have a sick baby, and I’ve got a little bit of cabin fever. But my husband, who I’ll forever refer to on this blog as “Littles,” which has absolutely no bearing on his manhood I’ll have you know, was home today, and he stayed home with baby while I went shopping in Columbus Circle.
I had all of this time that I could be doing something for me — me time! — but I kind of didn’t know what to do. I’m embarrassed to admit what I did: I went to the Baby Gap. Then I walked through Borders without really reading anything. Went to Whole Foods, picked up stuff for dinner and got on the M4 bus. I just wanted to get home to my baby and Littles.
It made me feel kind of boring. The old me would have sat in some dingy coffee shop and settled into a ratty purple velvet Chesterfield sofa and read for a couple of hours. The old me probably would have grabbed my yoga mat and dropped into a downward dog at PURE. I might have even walked 40 blocks south, just because I love winter walks, and then walked home a different route, a longer one, so I might stumble upon some new hidden shop or restaurant that I’d make a point of going back to.
But this is the thing about being a new mom: You spend so much time, and I might add really truly happy time, caring for your baby and your Littles and your dog that you end up, well, forgetting that you’re even there sometimes. This isn’t a bad thing — It’s honestly not. Any mommy out there knows exactly what I mean, you love every second of what you’re doing as a mother; selflessness is one of the most fulfilling feelings of all. Sometimes when I make baby laugh hysterically my heart swells with so much joy that I feel like it might burst into a thousand pieces.
But once Harper goes to bed, once I’m no longer in my mommy role, I’ve been unable to remember what it is that I used to do before I had him. Truthfully, I sort of can’t remember who I even was. That’s how life changing a baby is.
And while all of these changes are welcome, happy changes, I don’t want to become one of those women who love their children so much that they stop seeing themselves altogether. I mean, moms who cut their hair like men and wear mom jeans because they don’t even notice that there’s anything wrong with either, they’re too wrapped up in everyone else around them. I want something different. Dare I say, I want it all: to love baby extraordinarily and Littles extraordinarily and me, well, extraordinarily.
And so I’m embarking on a little experiment, and I’m calling it: Peace, Love and Mommyness. I know, it’s cheesy — I saw the saying on a t-shirt once — but it captures exactly what I need in my life right now. Me. I need to figure out how to inject myself back into my life, as odd as that sounds.
Today, I begin a quest to do one thing everyday for the next 365 days to bring myself, not anyone else, just me, a sense of peace, love or mommy-happyness. It may be a small thing or a cliched thing or a life changing thing, but I’ll try, try, try to do one thing. One is all you really need, I think, to nourish your spirit.
You’re reading this because today’s commitment was to write again. I write all of the time for work — I work part-time — but I wanted to write for me and only me. Every night I will give myself at least 30 minutes as a devotional of sorts, a chance for me to sit down and say something, even if it’s just to myself. And my sister. And Cindy. The two people who I know will read this blog.
Either way, welcome. I think this is going to be fun.