One hour to myself

Umm. Do you see it too? I see a cute kid with a ladybug on her forehead. She has cute pjs. Her mom has too much hair these days. Yeah, the mom loves the baby. But wait, look again at that mom's hair. That is too much gray for a 34 year old. I gasped when I saw this picture. I had no idea my hair was that gray. Good grief.

But let's see. I shower once or twice a week. I take a toddler/infant bath with the kids because we think maybe the bumbo wasn't supposed to go in the bath after all (sorry Tayla, I guess I owe you a bumbo chair?). I wash my hair exactly once a week. I haven't had a pedicure since last summer (8 months ago) and haven't dyed my hair since before getting pregnant with Gavin. JHC, that is 40 months ago, now.

I look in the mirror and I see one big brow. My teeth need attention. I'm getting smile lines. My furrowed brow look that can manage a classroom without a sound has left a big vertical jag in my monobrow. I don't know what looks better - one brow or this deep crevasse. My clothes don't fit, and those that do are covered in sluggy snot trails of my snot nosed kids. I haven't had a night of sleep in about 3 months. My mattress is horrible and I prefer to sleep on the couch. My C section scar hurts and it's ugly as hell (my first C sect scar was lovely). I sound like I've got my BiTcH on but really, it's just the exterior of the woman I see in the mirror every time I see a mirror outside my own crappy seahorse-tiled bathroom with almost no lighting. I can't see a thing in there, so any other mirror in life shows me the suit of motherhood.

But it's not how I feel.

I'm tired but I'm grateful. I look worn out but I'm so happy. My skin isn't what I want it to be but I'm so grateful for health. I don't want all these grays but I'm glad I still have hair and that I'm finally at peace with the curls. The C section is ugly but the kids are lovely. The clothes don't fit but there are stores full of more until I'm ready to fit into the old clothes.

It's so odd to see how poorly the outside of me matches the insides.

I am glad it's not the other way around. That's how I felt after my first pregnancy. PPD really destroyed my ability to make peace with myself inside, though the pictures make my journey look wonderful. It wasn't. (It wasn't blog fodder, so I'm sure you won't see any on the archives here...) I have confidence in my parenting and I truly enjoy every single minute now. But now about this haggard look...

1. What to do with my hair length? It's long and I like it long but Gavin keeps handing fallen hairs back to me saying "Here you go, Mommy." They're everywhere. They're too annoying. It gets ratty. It's harder to style than shorter hair. Am I too old for long hair? Was my shorter hair cuter?

2. Color. Worth it? I was going for health of the babies by not coloring during pregnancy and in between kids, I decided to try to grow out the big white/gray patch to rock the salt and pepper look. I'm not sure I own it. But I'm far too lazy to stay current on color, even home color. I'm also a dirty hippie and cheap. Thoughts? Is it that bad?

I'm a big girl. I can handle it.

So about this one hour to myself. I have been putting in some overtime at work (compensated, boo ya!) and it culminated with a presentation last night. When I got home, I couldn't sleep so I was checking work email (problem #1) and saw a template our boss wanted us to fill out for our annual self reflection. (A whole problem in itself, I guess problem #2). I thought "well, why not just do it now?" (Yep, #3) and stayed up late finishing it. So then of course I got all fired up about next year and how to get better at my job (Is that #4?). So then I really couldn't sleep. After emailing my boss the document, I realized her email said that we were going to work on it during the morning staff meeting this morning. I lost track of the problem numbers.

The huh? The what? The morning staff meeting? Well that means that I can do the other stuff in the afternoon since the nanny stays till 5 on Wednesdays so I can attend meetings. Holy shit, I don't have any work to catch up. That means I'm homefree at 3:40 and off of life's clock till 5.

That's the end of the problems, people.

I hitchhiked home with some neighbors and by the time I sat down on the couch, iPhone in hand, ready to good old fashioned waste some time, I saw I had exactly 73 minutes. I assumed that the nanny and the kids were napping in the bedroom so I snuck back there to tell him I was home (so I wouldn't freak anyone out) and ohdeargodinheaven, they weren't even here. No hummus on my sweater, be nice to your sister, I just fed you, whose diaper is poopy? Time to fart around online.

What's new on facebook? What funny links did my friends share? Lynnae sent Andrea something that sounded funny. OK let's check that out. http://www.rantsfrommommyland.com/2011/04/five-universal-laws-of-mornings.html
I got the giggles and realized I was tearing up. I was so relieved that someone else felt this way! I started just clicking on other posts. I was home alone, laughing outloud, reading post after post for 53 of my 73 minutes of freedom. I had to get up to blow my nose twice because of all the laugh-so-hard-I-cried cryin. I haven't laughed like that for a long, long time. Felt great. 3 times I just had to sit and contemplate the writing on that site. OhMyGoD, so frackin funny. Then I'd just recall one line and repeat it - aloud - to myself, just sending me into fits again.

No one was peeing on me, spitting on their sister, throwing their shit on the floor, shouting at me "I WANT A ELMO COOKIE RIIIIGHT NOOOOOW!!!" (Seriously, Gavin?), or asking me where the mother flippin' spatula is.

And then it hit me. I'm cracking up. I can't remember what back health feels like, from lugging around a big child. I haven't slept 5 hours straight in 100 days. I never ever get 60 or 73 minutes to myself. And that's the thing about mothering. We're not supposed to mind that. We feel guilty and worry about the kids when we do take time for ourselves. We think we're not supposed to need something. And that's not fair. And if the kids aren't here, I'm sure occupied with cleaning up after them and making sure everyone has what they need.

A car isn't guilty for needing gas.

And I'm out. But a 73 minute charge (53 online, cracking up to witty mommentary + a 20 minute catnap) was a nice start.