Nobody wants to say it out loud. We all might think it, but it is so not-classy/egotistical to say it. However, I said I would be honest here. So, ahem..."I, anonymous writer of this blog, think I am a good person".
I live pretty responsibly. I car-pool. I have manners. I give my money to United Way. I give my blood to the Red Cross. I am a law abiding citizen(speeding home from work aside). I work hard at a job with no possibility of bonuses, promotions, or accolades because I believe that it helps others. I generally try to good things. I feel like I am not a Scrooge.
But then I became a mom.
I never truly understood how much I was living for myself until I was face-to-face with a human that depended on me in order to live. Suddenly, the generous person I thought was, was being taxed and torn by a tiny, crying, drooling little creature.
I used to pride myself on my efficiency. Don't get me wrong, I can be as lazy as anyone else, but I can also throw it into overdrive and accomplish a months worth of tasks and chores before lunch. (If you knew my mother, this would make sense.) I have been known to wake up Saturday and cleaned the house and left to run errands before my husband has woken up for the day. But recently, that has all changed. Except for the part about all that stuff needing to still be done. Oy.
In the last six months, my level of efficiency at home and personal grooming has become something like that of Homer Simpson's. I watch TV, burned out from the day of work and love on my baby from five to nine pm. The dishes pile up-beyond the sink and onto the counter. The recycling can becomes a mountain of paper and catalogs that I never signed up for. Every day I think about taking care of it and every few days I actually do something about it, though it really does bother me everyday to have a mess in the kitchen, I have learned that there are other more important things in need of my attention. And those important things are not daily showers or hair fixin'.
I am also reminded of this every morning, after hearing the alarm go off before 5:30. Even the
temptation of sleep. Even the temptation of sleep when it is still dark
outside. Even the temptation of sleep when it is still dark outside
and it is winter, and I know that the floor will be cold when I step on
it, is now trumped by the thought that my baby needs me. I am reminded that he needs me more than I need sleep,
sunlight, and warm feet and so I groggily walk to his bedside. As soon as I see him laying the wrong direction in his crib, rolled onto his belly, forehead shoved up against the slats, I know I made the right decision.
I am not complaining. Please don't read it that way. I am just realizing that before I had a kid, I was living a life dedicated to my own whimsies. Now, I spend a large part of my day wiping poop off a little white hiney. But I have a joy like I have never known.
