You have to take time for yourself

Says the person who has time to take for herself. And yeah, I have that time part of the year. But I sure don’t have it now, now that my husband is on the farm. And yes, that means he actually on a farm for 16 hours a day. I haven’t been to the dentist in 14 years, this is because I haven’t had insurance, not because I don’t care. So today I finally went. I need a tooth pulled but I need to be knocked out for it. So I have to go the oral surgeon. I have to be knocked out… so it’s not like I just need a sitter for an hour. It’s a “my husband needs to not be on the fucking farm” kind of situation. I nicely tell her. “Well you have to take some time for yourself” she says.

Same with my wonderful therapist. She keeps telling me to take time for myself. I have no idea what I am going to do alone. Seriously. She has been telling me for well over a year now. And the babies aren’t even a year old. Time. For. Myself.  Here is what I do with time to myself, and I am the first person to say this isn’t healthy. I go to the dentist and contemplate my horrible life choices.  And go take a long awaited test, and contemplate my horrible life choices. Once I got a massage, and I can tell you, until the woman had her hands on me, I was pretty miserable. I was fidgety, I wore the crippling social anxiety I once had, all over my face.  I realized how much of myself is merely a mom now. I went shopping after ward and I genuinely missed my twin attention grabbers babbling on either side of me. Though, it was nice to not be stopped while I shopped.

I do the things I absolutely can not do with the twins on me. Even if it isn’t fun. Because if it is fun, I can probably find a way to tote all three kids around.

My therapist asks, “what kind of things do you like to do?” I like to hike. I like to walk. I like to bike ride. I can do all these things with the babies on me, or in an over priced cloth trailer behind me. And quite frankly I have zero interest in doing any of them with out the kids. Because my life is no longer about me. It’s about enriching their lives. And until they are old enough for me to scream, “you’re all spoiled ungrateful shits, I’m leaving with out you!” I am going to take them with me.

Once the babies go to bed I clean the house and work on home schooling stuff with my oldest. But on days that I need “me time”, I just plop in front of the tv, or on the recliner with my phone or a book.   I opt to not clean those days.  That is what my “me time” is now. I hollow shell of what it used to be.
This can be viewed two ways: as the over zealous, un-healthy addiction to my children that is the rarer form of PPD. Or, I have made peace with where I am. And what I do.  I have given way to a new adult me, and let go of what I was as a teen. As a teen I painted. I was an artist. And I still do some, few, artistic things. But they come out in doing things for my children, painting a nursery, making my children books for their birthdays.  And I assure you, those books I wrote for my son, they bring him more joy than any of my paintings have ever brought me. So maybe it really isn’t that bad that I don’t find the time to do the things I defined myself by in my teenage years.

So in short, this is how I want to sum up my post. You have to find you time. You have to find the things that make you, you. But some of it will give way to being a mom. Because that is the biggest most important job you will ever have. And if you don’t have any help to have moments dedicated to just you, make what you want to do a family goal. Unless it’s going to the bar to get shit faced.. you probably can’t do that as a family.  Yes, it is harder to do this, but it is so worth it. It is far more fulfilling for me to enrich my kids lives, than it is to get away on my own.

And also, the long and the short of it, according to my husband, “How to rack up a giant fuel bill. Twin style”… thanks husband. Thanks for working your ass off so that I can do amazing things with our children.

Sorry if this post is hard to follow. It was written over a week. Every time I wrote a sentence a baby woke up to nurse.

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