Self-Care is Health Care
Get ready for a half vent, half advice type of post. First, allow me to vent. My husband travels a lot for work. Maybe not as much as some people, like, say, a pilot — but for a man who: a.) works for a company based in Wisconsin, and b.) works remotely, he travels at least one week a month. A significant amount, I would say. This month, it’s two weeks. It’s enough to make me wish I still had a secret pack of Camel Turkish Golds hidden in my freezer (please note it has been at least 10 years since my hands last lit a smoke). If we had no children (yes, I include the dog), this wouldn’t be so bad. When Baer was a baby, it also wasn’t the worst, and when he was in that sweet spot of six months to 14 months, A.K.A. the two-nap period, that was the best. But here we are: Baer is three years old, Mimi is like my freaking shadow, and I haven’t slept in my own bed for longer than 2 consecutive hours at a time for five nights (the Nugget is great but leaves a bit to be desired in the way of back and hip support).
LET IT BE KNOWN that as I write this, Nate is home and putting Baer to bed. Thank you, thank you, thank you. My mental and physical health were taking a beating, and this is with Baer being in 3K for seven to eight hours a day! And with my parents living less than a mile away and being able to help with meals, pick-ups, and park time! Holy $hit, what would I have done with him if these safeguards weren’t in place? I don’t even want to think about it. So here I sit, so freaking privileged, and I still feel like I can barely breathe. I cannot answer one more “why” question. I cannot give anyone anymore treats. I cannot clean up anymore pee from the seat (Baer) or poo from the grass (Mimi). I cannot ask anyone to talk a little quieter at 6:30 am or explain that 7:00 pm is winding down time, not time to get jazzy with Fuzzy Bunnies or the dog next door. I admit that I said some words I should not have said in front of little ears these last 36 hours, but man, I really could not hold it in any longer. Let the internal and external mom shaming begin.
Because I feel like I: a.) am a $hit mom, b.) can’t answer ANYMORE FREAKING QUESTIONS, and c.) can’t breathe in this house that I am currently occupying (stay tuned for a longer post on that situation), I am going to spend the afternoon taking care of me! I’ll start by going to my library to pick up the items I have on hold there. This will be followed by being waxed within an inch of my life at the Pfister Well Spa (it’s really not that bad, I promise), where I will also thoroughly enjoy the Pfister’s famous truffle chips and bleu cheese dip. To end my day, I’m going to work off those chips with a double dose of Orangetheory. Nate will be doing drop off for Baer and Mimi; I’ll do pick up.
Sometimes I feel guilty taking time for self-care. I think it’s a relatively new concept that mothers should hold their needs up as a priority. I find that when I talk to women of my mom’s or my grandmother’s generations, they don’t share the same opinion that mothers deserve time for themselves, away from their children, homes, and partners. And if they do, it’s in limited doses. In this regard, I am so appreciative of the moms on social media (the ones I choose to surround myself with), who are out there, speaking their truths, and enjoying their lives. Of course, we miss our children when we are apart from them. Of course, we love our partners, even though they drive us bananas. You can be happy with your home life and still need a break, and that is where I am today. I love my son. I love my husband. I love my pup. And I still need to not be asked a single damn request for at least two hours.