A golden honeysuckle candle burns in my office, barely flickering in the stillness of the morning. The quiet of the dimly lit kitchen is often broken by the sounds of the cat playing with a balloon in the living room. This is music to my ears because it’s keeping him from his usual routine of meowing in the hallway with hopes of waking up the children, his playmates and sometimes friends.
And here I sit pajama clad sporting bed head and white mug of coffee, wondering how quickly “my time” will come to an end. They call this “me-time” and I crave it with an inner need that makes me feel desperate, guilty, selfish and justified all in the same breathe.
Lately Caedmon’s first “mama,” the one that sends me into his room to scoop him up, it feels like work lately and not at all like joy, I hate that. My whole life feels like a chore that I’m struggling through, always wishing for a weekend, a holiday that never seems to arrive.
Kel and I pass like proverbial ships in the night and I’m generally asleep before his work day finishes up. I crave time with him nearly as much as I crave time alone, I feel so utterly spent when we’re finally together that I have no spirit left for him, just a few kisses and apologies as he tucks me into bed and retires back to the living room.
I play and work from 6:30 AM – 8:30 PM when I pass out with nothing left to give my writing , no strength to channel the creative spirit into something tangible or legible. I often take comfort in chocolate, wine and pointless TV in the spare moments between the moment Noelle finally surrenders to sleep and the moment that I do.
Is this the best of my life right now? A little chocolate and wine? The cannot be my escape, oh Lord save me from the death of this rhythm immediately or sooner.
I want to run away, find a field to occupy, free and alone. I want to blow dandelion fluff and find shapes and faces in the clouds. I want to my family drive away for a while so I can enjoy my home with a bit of peace and quiet, yet so I often protest the suggestion, because I’m wracked with guilt for the very need of it.
Is this depression, stress, laziness or it the labor pains of something new being born? Is it normal? Is normal even real?
This is my adventure, the life I’ve always wanted yet somedays I wonder if there’s any room for me in it?
Are my house keeping standards too high? My children too demanding? Why am I doing wrong to wind up with this strong a need to run away from it all?
This isn’t a cry for help and I hope it’s not whining, it’s just my need to write mixed up with the only song I’m singing today. I feel the need to apologize for it, but then I wonder if somedays you don’t feel it too?
Have you been here before, in parenthood, work-life or any other season? In the middle of the life you love wondering if there’s room for you in it? Shall we pray for each other, figure it out together? Give it to God (virtual) side by side?