Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Not what I thought

A old friend of mine had a baby last week. Although I am sublimely happy for her, I also had absolutely no jealousy. There was no oh I'm so happy for her, but why isn't that me, or when will that be me again.

A friend just came back to church after having her 6th child, her second daughter. She holds that baby and is off in la la land of love, when she stares at that baby you know nothing else in the world matters to her. Once again I'm very happy for her, no jealousy, I am so happy both for her, and both for my family size. 

I realized I'm not mourning what I thought I was. I'm mourning that my baby boys aren't babies anymore, that they no longer want to snuggle on the couch all day anymore. 
I'm mourning that I'm not longer the cute young mom with life mostly organized, I'm now the mom who looks like a tornado is swirling at all times, the mom who has more kids than you can quickly count, the mom who has more kids then hands. The mom who no longer brings fresh baked cookies to an event because what? doesn't everyone do this. I'm the mom that checks out the clearance bakery items because oh my goodness, I'm so overwhelmed we eat cold cereal for dinner. But at the same time retirement always stresses me out so clearance it is.

(On a side note, I recently realized there is a difference between busy and overwhelmed. Some people are genuinely busy but always hit deadlines, then there are other people who can barely tie their shoes they are so overwhelmed but its easier to say busy then let someone glimpse oppressive fear and exhaustion. Then there are those who scream busy every other day. I'm not sure why I don't know if it helps the stress or if they want their procrastination to be your emergency...)

 I'll never be this mom again. Sure I lived in chronic pain 24 hours a day, but emotions don't make sense.

Or this mom.
Or this mom.

Maybe it comes down to I'm not sure I'll ever be this mom again, I don't think he will ever willing let me get this close to him again.

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