There are some days that I want to do nothing at all. Being a mother & wife, laundry & cooking still take part of this equation (don’t most people still need to do these things?), but it’s after 2 pm and I’m sitting here in my PJs watching Maka Paka dance around on the screen while baby #2 causes destruction in our living/dining/kitchen room. Whoever thought open living spaces were the bomb didn’t have children yet.
I sit and contemplate having some wine. I think, I should put baby down for a nap and then shower and rejoin society dressed in clean, nice smelling clothes. But then I have to wait for my favourite pair of yoga pants to finish drying.
Recently I posted about my difficulties with post-partum depression, and how I’ve been slowly dealing with it. I received some really nice comments and emails from it, and I’m so grateful to you guys for reaching out.
I finally feel like the fog I’ve lived in for the past year or so is finally clearing. Activities and events don’t fill me with dread and panic so much any more. I am finding myself interested in new things, excited about biking and jogging and cross-stitching and things I would have shrugged my shoulders to in the past.
This is a huge relief to me, but with that feeling also comes the fear that it will come back all too soon.
Life can be so funny sometimes. I started off this year wanting to really pull myself together again, live the life I had always imagined. Together my husband and I started to slowly eat better, in March we actually quit alcohol for the month and were eating healthy foods about 90% of the time (a girl still needs her emergency chocolate!). I was so motivated to get this healthy goal of mine going.
But in April, my motivation started to wane. We started to have more and more “cheat” nights, started ordering pizza again, and by May we were back to our weekend food binges, Tuesday night pizza, wine on a Thursday (because why not?), etc, etc. I realised that the 12 pounds I lost in March had all crept back on.
Suppose children were brought here on earth to teach their parents a lesson: what could you learn from your child? It’s our role as parents to teach them, right? And yet every single day I learn something new from my kids. Today’s lesson involved the art of doing nothing, which in Italian is l’arte di non fare nient. This is a lesson in zen, truly, it’s not just doing it’s nothing – it’s accepting the silence, appreciating the stillness, allowing your mind to drift and wander without worries or care. It’s a skill.
I’ve been following Jenni’s challenge at Story of My Life, almost from the beginning of May, but haven’t actually posted any of them until today! For your information, today’s challenge is: Something someone told you about yourself that you’ll never forget.
I was in the second or third grade. I had my brown hair, my big mouth always getting me in trouble, I was super loud, always running rampant, and eating too many sweets. I was never a ‘fat kid’ but I was never part of the skinny club. My little belly was always there, my thighs have touched as long as I can remember being on this earth. Safe to say, I weighed ten pounds more than I should have my whole life. But I was always told how pretty I was, so I think everyone can overlook that extra junk in my trunk (or appreciate it for what it is!).
Lucky girl! This week I purchased not only one pair of gorgeous sparkly sandals, but I also got my new birkenstocks (in black, this time). After not spending money on myself in months, this feels like an outright luxury!
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After the births of each of my children, I went through periods of postpartum depression, which I am still going through today. The one surprising thing is that after the birth of each child, the PPD symptoms were different. Just like each child is completely different, so were my mental health problems, I suppose.
I was 22 when my first child was born, I was young, I was not prepared for the realities of motherhood, and really, who is? But I know in my heart that my maturity level wasn’t truly ready to accept the changes in my life. I was weepy for the first few months of my daughter’s life. They called it the “baby blues”. I would cry at the drop of a hat, I wasn’t ‘sad’, I didn’t feel ‘depressed’, but I would cry for no reason at all. I tried to keep it hidden away, pretend everything was okay in my life, and on the surface I thought I had succeeded. Only the closest people in my life really knew, and the closest ones usually receive the shit end of the stick (like my poor husband found out)…