Get this. I was at the gym by 7:04am this morning. Yes, me. I even put on my beats before I walked through the door, so that no one could tell this was my first step inside of a gym since learning I was pregnant over a year and a half ago. I didn’t need anyone’s judgmental looks in my life this morning as I struggled to turn on the treadmill.
When I was first handed that perfect, tiny human I so appropriately named Joah, I willingly threw everything aside to give him my all. They always say, “Take some me time”, “Don’t forget about you, mama”, “You can’t take care of him if you don’t take care of you”, etc. I heard them, but I was, and am, obsessed. I can admit that. My baby is my world. He is everything I’ve ever dreamed. He is my greatest wish come true. He is the answer to my prayers. And the very moment he was swooped up and cradled in my arms in that hospital bed, I willingly (and excitedly) pushed myself to the side to answer his every little cry.
Don’t get me wrong. My feelings have’t changed. I will walk to the moon and back for him, if his heart so desires. But I do realize that I must acknowledge reality every now and again. And the reality is, I have sorely neglected myself lately.
I’ve reached a point in my life where I’ve become complacent. In the past, that would’ve given me cause to celebrate. I’ve always dreamed of being in a space I wasn’t trying to actively run away. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve been through to get here. I’ve been abused, neglected, abandoned, homeless, and assaulted. I’ve been in situations that not even those closest to me know of. (Stories for another time.) I’ve literally prayed to just be “okay.” I prayed for quiet mornings in a place where I could just relax, let my guard down, and breathe.
And here I am, with more than I could’ve ever imagined. Happy. Fulfilled. In love. Loved. Protected. And all that other sappy stuff. Enjoying life with my wife and our son. Obsessing over every little moment with these two. I’m having the time of my life, every day. Literally. And I celebrate every little thing. Just ask my wife how many texts she gets a day about Joah’s every move. Baha. But I need a hobby. An outlet. Something that does not involve cleaning and mommying.
I am blessed to be able to spend my every day with my favorite tiny human. He keeps me laughing and on my toes. But I look around this house. And I see his toys taking over every room, his baby books, my wife’s photography equipment, her work folders, her video games,…. and I don’t see much evidence of me. See my issue? I’ve become so wrapped up in mommy (and wife) mode that I don’t know how to exist without them. When I get free time, I’m like that awkward shy kid at a party that doesn’t dance, so she just stands there alone obsessing over what to do with her hands the whole time. (That was also me, so this feeling is very familiar baha.) So, *sigh* here I am. Trying my hand at this whole adulting thing by finding a healthy hobby and nurturing myself and my sanity.
So, day one down. A million more to go!