Letting Go of Self

Letting Go of Self

When I came home from the workforce a year ago I was a bit delusional about what being a stay at home mom of 2 under 2 really looked like.  I know this will sound totally naïve, but I honestly thought I would have more time for myself.  Not like loads and loads of time to do whatever my heart desired, but ya know, like at least enough time to get a shower on a daily basis.

Here my girls are now 13 months and 2.5 years old and Daphne only started sleeping through the night in the last ten days.  With everything in me I’m trying to get the girls’ naps scheduled to be at the same time to allow me an hour or two to complete housework, work on my small business, paint, even for just some self-care for myself.  For a year I’ve literally had someone sleeping all day in my house (staggered naps are for the birds, can I get an Amen?) which has made any downtime for me next to impossible.

Hear me out on this though:  I am absolutely not complaining.  I get so much out of serving my family.  I love this chapter of my life right now.  On a daily basis I am given an opportunity to demonstrate love to my family by serving them. I get to live love.  And the rewards are returned tenfold to me by these tiny little humans.

But the biggest realization for me in this chapter of life has been to letting go of self.  So often society looks at a sleep deprived new momma, compares her to her former pre-baby self, and says “she let herself go.” That’s not it at all.  It’s not about letting herself go as much as it is just letting go of self.  I’m letting go of putting myself first.  For a bit I’m taking a backseat. This is a chapter in my life where trendy clothes, fresh haircuts, hot meals, and leisurely Saturday mornings spent sleeping in are a thing of the past.  For a few short years I’ll eat the crust of my kiddo’s PB&J while standing over the kitchen sink and cleaning up their messes and I’ll call it lunch.  I’ll be sleep deprived.  I’ll wait until the dishes are done, laundry is folded, stories have been read and the babes are tucked in before I grab my first shower in nearly 48 hours.  I’ll perfect the air-dried hair look and master a mean mom-bun.  I’ll forgo a haircut to save the money and the time spent away from my girls. I’ll be less tone.  I’ll carry a few extra pounds in my softened midsection from growing and birthing the miracles that are my daughters.  I’ll worry about a two piece and the stretch marks on my tummy another summer.  This summer, this chapter, I’m more focused on splashing in the kiddie pool and eating popsicles until our tongues turn blue. And it’s okay.  This chapter isn’t about me, it’s about them.

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