Lately, I’ve been letting mom brain get the best of me at night. I lie in bed thinking about all the things I need to do. I think about all the things I didn’t do. I think about all the things my kids need to do; remind them to grab their water bottle before we leave, take their multivitamin, did they put their homework in their backpack? I wonder if I took my vitamins today? It’s a running list that never ends. I started keeping a notebook on the side of my bed so I could write these things down as I lie there at night. It helps, but still, I’m tired.
I know this is what I signed up for as a mom … to be responsible for other humans, but some days, it’s just plain exhausting. I’m lucky enough to have a husband who works very hard for our family, but right now he is in the process of going back to school. Our roles have shifted and now on top of my part time contributions to our family financially, I’m working more, and worrying more. I’m worried about when I can find a few extra minutes to sweep and mop. I’m worried if I don’t get the dishes washed before he gets home will he be annoyed. I’m worried I won’t have funds to pay all my bills. Being a freelance artist and entrepreneur will do that to you regardless, but still, I’m tired.
It just so much to keep up with, and even with a husband who contributes more than his fair share, I wonder why so much of those daily tasks (packing lunch, eating dinner standing up, cleaning the bathroom, doing the laundry and so much more), fall on moms to manage. Of course he’ll help me if I ask, but that still means I have to ask. And that feels like nagging… who wants to nag their husband?
He said to me recently in the mist of a minor melt down,
I’ll never understand how people who live such comfortable lives can be so unhappy.”
The thing is, I’m not unhappy, I’m just tired.
The kind of tired you feel in your bones … the kind of tired that a good year’s rest could wash away. A year of not worrying about anyone but myself. A year of not giving a sh*t about the dishes in the sink. A year of working on my projects, goals and dreams. A year of working out and moving my body on my own time, for no one other than myself. A year of not packing lunches. A year of sitting down to eat. A year of cleaning up one room and not walking into another that’s been destroyed while I was cleaning the first. But I can’t take a year to rest, so I sneak into the bath, I add some essential oils and epsom salts. I close my eyes. I remind myself it’s the days that are long, and the years that are short.
Someday too soon, I will be able to clean my house and it will stay clean. I will be able to leave in the morning without yelling. I will be able to work out and rest when I want. But for now I’m still a mom to little humans who need me to guide them, to worry for them, so they don’t have to. They need me to clean up with them, so they understand how to take care of themselves and their homes. They need me to remind them to take their multivitamins and drink their water. I might be tired, but at least I’ve got coffee.