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I have never claimed to be anything less than an all-or-nothing person. I seem incapable to rest halfway. If I am good at something, love something, I cling to it. If I am bad, I tend to let it go. Like cleaning my house, for instance.
I feel myself tightly wound lately. Now that the baby is seven weeks old, I feel more like my old self physically and emotionally. (As much as I would like to look like Selma Hayek and feel like Julie Andrews singing “The Hills are Alive,” my old self will have to do.) When I got pregnant with David I felt like I was just starting to learn how to do this stay-at-home mom thing. I made the beds! I made whole wheat bread!
I want to do it all. I just want to wash the sheets, darn it. I don’t want to serve peanut butter and jelly for every meal. I want to do my Bible study, exercise, have the house clean, do all the laundry, go to playdates, clean off the top of my dresser, write thank-you notes, and not have frequent emotional breakdowns.
It seems that there are people who actually do all these things. Even people with small children. These are all good things, valuable things, and things I probably SHOULD be doing.
I also have a small baby who hates being laid in his bed, a toddler who needs an extra dose of attention, and very few shared nap hours between the two, if any. I have freelance work that must be done. I have a husband to love on and oh, yeah, a need to sleep!
Where is the line, friends? What is “enough” to do? I feel panicked because I can’t do it all but with no conceivable notion of how to do some of it without feeling like I am going crazy looking at the mess and my body and a stir-crazy child. I feel at the other end is the defense: my kids are small and won’t be small long. I cherish them. Life’s too short to clean.
And yet, the ants won’t stay away with crumbs lining the floor.
What is the happy medium?
File this under: Another Confession about How Not Only Do I Not Have It All Together, I’m Pretty Sure I Have It All Apart.