I’m sorta dubious about this here blog thing. Making it personal? Gee. That could be telling people too much. My life has been a bit of a roller coaster over the last seven+ years of having children. If I’d been blogging since then, there might be something worthwhile to read. Starting now feels a bit anticlimactic, actually. Now is the time in my life when I honestly have time for blogging, as I am no longer nursing an infant or toddler, I actually get enough sleep at night (most of the time) and there are even regular intervals when I get time to myself. It’s a curious phase in life indeed. But by virtue of the space for occasional quiet and reflection, I begin to feel… guilty. As though every moment must be a productive one. If I am sitting and staring out the window, it must be a bad thing, because there is laundry to be washed… clean dishes to unload… a kitty water bowl that needs refreshing. How can I take time for myself when all these tedious tasks require attention?
I go about these humble household duties as though they amount to something significant, like an obsessive-compulsive who can’t think clearly or move on to the next thing until the routine is complete. Maybe that defines me. I have an addiction to routine.I am free of a babe in arms first thing in the morning, thus I can actually get up and shower without needing my husband’s permission to do so (in order to hold the babe, mind you!). I cherish tasks like watering the plants or wiping down the kitchen counters, savoring the fact that I can do it at all. And the rest of the time, I try to put it out of my head. I see lint balls collecting under the radiator. I say to myself, “Ignore it. Better things to do right now.” But I find myself having that little exchange in my mind at least 5 times over the day… about the same thing…
Lest I come across as totally crazy—let me explain. I had three children in a span of three years. When my youngest child was born, my oldest was two months shy of turning three, and my middle was 14 months old. I nursed my older children simultaneously through my pregnancies. I breastfed the younger two (both boys) simultaneously for over a year—I felt like a pro. Nursing through pregnancy felt like an easy thing after all of that.
All of the pregnancies and birthing took a toll on my body. I had bone loss in my gum line. I had mastitis and yeast infections more times than I can reasonably remember. For a while, after baby number three, it seemed like a normal state of life to be plagued with those recurrent infections. Also during that time, we had only one bedroom for the five of us to share, and the living quarters outside of that bedroom were very tight and quite unusual given that we did not have a real kitchen. Times for me were challenging during those years, when I just wanted to get through each day without screaming or panicking to the point where I could not function as a parent.And I certainly had days where I could not function.
I am glad to say those days are behind me and things are so much better now. So perhaps it does not sound so crazy to hear that I take joy in watering the plants and having time to look out the window, doing nothing in particular.