Today, I picked up a small nugget of poop (yes, poop) with my bare hands. Why? Because it went rogue and it was solid enough to pick up and throw away. I also got nailed in the head with a chicken nugget, smacked in the face with a impossibly strong and deceivingly tiny hand and I attempted to firmly say "NO" while trying not to laugh as P smeared avocado all over basically everything. Then, at 12:30pm I sent my husband an email that said "We really need to sit down, talk and sort out our life" which, I'm guessing, is probably the last email any man, in the history of earth, wants to receive from his wife at 12:30pm on Friday. He's thinking about a beer; he's thinking about coming home and watching the Olympics and he's thinking about being done with work for two days. And now his wife wants to "talk" and "sort out life."
The first three weeks of being a stay at home mom have been extraordinarily blissful for my little family. Dinner is on the table every night, I learned how to give myself a mani-pedi and I told T the other day that I "enjoyed" cleaning the floors...because I actually did. He loves having me home and I've been relishing in my new role as Nanny, Cleaning Lady, Nail Tech and Cook. Fortunately for both of us, giving up my $600/month Banana Republic habit has been far less difficult than I anticipated and three weeks in I'm surviving the Six Month Challenge with no issues and managing to dress myself freshly most days.
Then today, I gave up. Three weeks in and I'm wearing leggings, a sports bra and a tank top to the supermarket. Three weeks in and I go into a full on panic about our financial future. Three weeks in and my earth-mother like patience disappears and I break down into full on tears because P is screaming for no reason in the car on the way to that supermarket that I'm headed to in my leggings, tank top and pony tail. Did I mention I haven't showered today?
Thanks to my all or nothing personality, I immediately started updating my resume, checking out job opportunities and have now decided one thousand percent that this amazing gig as a Mommy that I've scored just can't last the full year we've agreed to and momentarily, I resent T or maybe the universe for not having it all figured out for me. Hence, the email about "needing to talk" and "sorting out our life." .
This is what they talk about when they say there are Ups and there are Downs and for some reason it takes me a little longer to come to the conclusions that most people already know. Because the truth is we are fine. The truth is we are more than fine and life is pretty good. In fact, life is pretty great even without a new handbag this month. But I've never been very good at appreciating the middle. Until now.
See, today just when my thoughts and fears got a little too loud, my toddler got a little too quiet. So I walked into the kitchen to see what was going on. What I found was 20 tupperware containers and 5 dishtowels strewn across the floor while one little boy sat happily in the middle of it all wearing a devilish grin. All of a sudden it becomes a good thing that I haven't showered and that I'm wearing leggings, because I plopped myself right down in the middle of it all and played with my little boy, my tupperware and my no-longer-clean dish towels. Then instead of mapping out tonight's conversation, I began to look forward to going to dinner with T, not because we are going to "talk" and "sort out" god-knows-what, but because we are going to laugh, a lot, because that's what we always do.
What did you do today?
Me? Today, I played.
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