Motherhood & Friendship: It's Harder Than it Looks

When I was a freshman in college, my best friend from high school got pregnant. We were very, very close the summer between senior year in high school and freshman year in college--and throughout our first year at college, we wrote each other letters, sent each other silly emails, text messages, and Facebook wall posts. (Remember Facebook wall posts!?) We were each others rock when we didn't really have a lot of other people who understood our background: we were perfectionist girls from small towns outside of a major metro, who went to a Catholic school where everyone was just a little wealthier than we were. We worked hard, took AP classes, played sports, and got good scholarships. 

I wish I could tell you that our friendship survived her pregnancy, that her becoming a mother and having to quit school, because you can't keep a soccer scholarship that covers most of your tuition when you're pregnant. I wish I could tell you that I had been there for her. And truly, I did try: I was 19 years old, however, and while that's no excuse, I didn't really have all the tools necessary to deal with her circumstances.

We fell apart for several years. My best friend disappeared into the background of my life; I remembered her fondly, but I wasn't sure exactly how to reconnect with her. But a year before my wedding, as I was trying on wedding dresses, I spotted her: she was trying on wedding dresses too. We hugged each other, we swore to get together... and we never did. I've chatted with her a few times since: we've met up for dinner once, she gave me the last of her breastmilk when Forrest was in the hospital just after his birth (a favor that is truly one of the greatest kindnesses anyone has ever done for me), and we talk occasionally on Facebook. But the spark of our friendship--that exciting feeling to have someone who just knew me, who understood all my quirks, who laughed at the same jokes as me, who sent me goofy cards she found in the grocery store just because--it's gone and it doesn't really come back. 

Recently, I was reading Jimsy Jampots, a newsletter by Amy that I really love, and she talked about friendship, about how some people seem to have a friend group that survives just about everything and others, well, just don't. I'll be the first to tell you I've never been great at making friends; I'm introverted and shy, with a heaping dose of social anxiety. I'm eternally self-conscious, always convinced I'll say exactly the wrong thing. It's like I never learned how to have a conversation, sometimes. But when people get to know me, I really do think I'm quite funny. But friends? Lasting friendships? That's something I really struggle with. 

In Amy's newsletter, she included a link to an article on the Pool about friendship and motherhood, and about how friendships shift and alter throughout our lives, but especially when we have kids... or don't have kids. You can read that article here. It got me thinking about my friend and how our friendship really dissolved once she was pregnant and especially after she had a baby. I was still in college, living a completely different life from her. 

Similarly, almost 3 years ago, I was having a baby when almost none of my friends were. I've written before that I found pregnancy a really fun experience (despite learning later on that I actually had a quite difficult pregnancy), but that I found the first three months of motherhood absolutely brutal. Postpartum life is isolating, exhausting, and, truly, just not very fun. Some people adjust really well and some people just don't. 

One line stuck out from that article by Robyn Wilder in particular: 

“Recently, the Daily Mail zeroed in on a “controversial” blog post by Australian writer Nadia Bokody, in which she claimed that “I can’t be your friend anymore now you’re a mother”. And in reply I’d like to say this: “Well, of course you fucking can’t.”

I’m not the same as I was before kids. I’m a mother now. I have a pram the size of an SUV that I don’t know how to collapse. I have to watch a YouTube tutorial every time I want to get it on a bus. So, no, I cannot meet you for cocktails in a trendy Brixton bar that you can only access via a broken fridge door in a back alley.”

It's very difficult to explain to people that it's not that I don't want to go to a trendy bar, or, god, even sit on a park bench and eat a sandwich and chat for hours. It's that I literally, physically cannot. I might be able to beg my child off on a babysitter for an hour, but that's just an hour. Or I can bring him along, spend all the time not really listening to someone talk, try to entertain him, annoy everyone else in the coffee shop, bar, or park, and then have to leave early because he didn't get a good nap, or he needs to eat lunch, or some other reason. (And truly, the stroller situation is out of control. Why don't they fold up easily!?) 

Motherhood changes everything in your life. In one monumental way (you have a human life that is dependent on you for basically everything) and in many small, insignificant ways that sometimes feel glaringly painful. They are little paper cuts, reminders that your life is somehow much better, but also much harder, than it was a year ago, or two years ago, or whatever. It's like someone has come into the apartment of your life and just changed the furniture a little bit. Your body doesn't work quite the same anymore and neither does your brain, really; you don't have as much time as you once did to lounge on the couch, or binge watch TV shows, or chat with your friends. Your car has gotten bigger, bulkier, and harder to maneuver and the backseat is basically a non-space, taken up entirely by a plastic potty that you have to carry everywhere, a bag full of extra clothes just in case, snacks, and the carseat that cost about the same as a house payment. You find yourself doing things your parents used to do: folding money into parchment paper and saving in the freezer with peppercorns inside, carefully wiping tennis shoes with wet paper towels to clean the mud off, creating travel books out of old binders and hole punched activity sheets you photocopied from your sister's old books, counting coins out for allowance, creating a chore chart. 

And there are people in my life who don't understand any of these things. They might even have kids themselves, who are older, or who are younger, or maybe they just adjusted to motherhood better than me and don't have to check the stove 3 times before they can get in the car. It makes friendship difficult. It makes it easy to go a week without talking, then two weeks, then somehow it's been two years and you're not even sure how to start the conversation anymore. 

Parenting is hard. It's not the hardest thing in the world and ultimately, it's a choice--but it's still really challenging. And it's hard to juggle parenting and socializing, especially if you, like me, aren't great at socializing to begin with. I've been on both sides of the coin: I've been the one moving on while a friend becomes a parent and I've been the one left in the dust, looking around and wondering when the last time I spoke to so-and-so was. And it's ok. At the end of the day, it's ok for friendships to fade. 

Because, in the meantime, you can find new friendships. Mom groups have bred some of the best friendships I've ever had--people who totally get me, who understand me and my difficulty with parenting, who laugh when I joke about starting a revolution, who understand when I say I don't really know if I want a second baby because I really, really like my first baby. People drift apart and it's hard to make time in the quagmire of our lives, but if you meet someone who is also fighting a two-year-old 13 hours a day, you'll be surprised as how well you can talk over screaming,. 

Motherhood & Remaining Passionate: Why It Is Not Selfish to Keep Your Hobbies as A Mom

It is often said that women lose themselves in motherhood. 

After we give birth, we start "getting our bodies back" (whatever that means). We become "dairy cows" (if you're lucky enough to breastfeed). We have a small life depending on us, so it's easy to feel like our identity becomes flattened into one idea. Many of us spend weeks, or if you're lucky, months, away from work; and some will end up quitting their jobs because it becomes more cost effective. It's more difficult to make plans with friends, especially in those early months, and we find ourselves watching more TV or listening to more podcasts to keep our minds occupied. 

Here's a quote from Mia Redrick in her piece, How Women Lose Themselves in Motherhood: 

“I call this the “Silent War,” the process of slowly fading away from yourself, your interests and your passions without even realizing that it is happening.

At some point, all mothers face this crossroad in parenting. We come up for air and realize that we can’t answer even the most basic questions like: When is the last time you read a book and finished it? What is your favorite place to shop for clothing? What are your hobbies? When is the last time you had fun doing something that you love?”

It's good to know I'm not the only one who had one of these moments. 

Before I had Forrest, I ran, I worked out, I wrote constantly, I kept meticulous journals, and I read voraciously. In the long, hard months after I had Forrest, I didn't do any of those things. I read a few books in the first year of his life--maybe 6 or 7 total--and I wrote some blog posts that I only recently went back and deleted. Mostly, I pumped. I fed him. I read about formula online. I chatted with fellow moms. And I watched a lot of TV. It took me a good two years before I started feeling like it was ok to let myself indulge in the hobbies that seemed, well, kind of frivolous. 

I've often seen the argument, not necessarily from outsiders, but from mothers themselves, that they feel selfish when they take time for themselves. I don't necessarily have this feeling, but I do struggle to plan in time alone during the week. I do a lot of work throughout the week--my day job, plus running this blog and doing freelance work--and that tends to take up the time that I would otherwise spend indulging in my hobbies. 

Yet, it can still feel very selfish. When Forrest is playing or watching TV, I start to feel a little bad that I'm sitting at the kitchen table with my headphones in, listening to a podcast. Or, when he's napping, I start to work on the short story idea I've been outlining and re-outlining in a notebook for weeks--then I realize I have laundry to do, or lunches to prep, or the living room to vacuum. I feel caught in the web of having to do things that are "productive"--or that are beneficial to the entire family, not just myself. 

You know how on airplanes, in the safety guidelines, they always say to put your own oxygen mask on first before helping others? That's motherhood, at the end of the day. You have to give yourself time to be a whole person before you can effectively help anyone else become a whole person. 

It's difficult to find the balance, however. It's easy to go all or nothing in our lives. But finding a balance that works for you and your family will help you be a better mother in the long run. I know it has made me a better mother to have an hour to myself in the evening, to write, read, exercise, or sit on the couch watching the ID channel. Learning how to schedule in time for yourself is a hugely personal task; there is no right way to do it, and no single method that works for every family and situation, especially if you have a child with a disability or illness. 

I always tell people that there is more to my identity than being a mother. Yes, being Forrest's mom is the biggest part of who I am--it's definitely the most important, in a lot of ways--but it's not the only thing about me. I also love learning about makeup. I love watching trashy reality TV. I love true crime. I love German music. I love writing, about anything and everything.

If you let motherhood consume your entire identity, you're doing not just yourself a disservice, but your child a disservice. This isn't to say that your hobbies should come first (that's absolutely not the case); but it is to say that as a mother, you matter too and it's ok to take time for yourself. 

How to Stay Creative As An Exhausted Mom

Have I ever mentioned that I'm really tired? Are you really tired? 

Everyone has different reasons for being exhausted. And I'm definitely not one of those people who thinks that, just because I have a kid, it makes my exhaustion more valid or more intense than other people's. This isn't the Olympics and no one gets a medal for being more or less tired than anyone else. 

I will say, however, that having a child drastically reduces the amount of time that I have for 1) recharging and 2) creating. Two things I know I need in my self-care arsenal to make sure I'm not cannonballing off a diving board into the anxiety pool. 

The more tired I get, the less able I am to be creative. The less creative I am, the more anxious I feel. The more anxious I feel, the more tired I feel. You get where I'm going with this? It's an endless cycle for me. 

After I finished Blogtober (October), NaNoWriMo (November), and Blogmas (December), a friend asked me: just how did you manage to do three solid months of constant writing & creative output without absolutely losing it? 

The answer: I just... did it. 

Ok, it's not that simple. Let's what through how I did it--and how I start creative, outside of that 3 month timespan, with raising a toddler. 

A Little Disclaimer

I wanted to start with a little disclaimer: it's ok to not have creative output. 

If you're a mom, who is creative, who based her life on creating prior to having a child, it's ok to not create anything if you genuinely don't want to. It's ok to not feel inspired. You don't have to force yourself to do it if you think it will be damaging to your mental health. Your health takes priority over writing, or painting. Getting sleep, eating meals, and having time to relax is more important that writing a week's worth of blog posts. 

So this is just my gentle way of saying: this is what works for me. This is what helps me to feel better. It is not for everyone. Take care of yourself first!

1. Make the Time

When Forrest plays in the afternoon, I often sit on the couch with my cell phone and take flat lay photos, or I write Instagram posts. Or, if I don't feel like doing that, I cross stitch. Both of these activities stimulate my mind, but don't invite Forrest's attention (he is obsessed with my work laptop) and aren't so time consuming that I can't focus on Forrest as well. 

I am someone who needs to be "productive"--and for me productive means actually producing something. This is why I sometimes struggle with handling my anxiety around cleaning and doing laundry; it doesn't necessarily "create" anything. So little things like editing photos, doing cross stitch, or organizing my bullet journal during playtime help me to stay creative and mentally stimulated--without throwing myself into a larger project. 

This is what I call "making the time." It isn't forcing yourself into a big project during a one-hour nap time or anything like that. It's just doing little creative things, when you can, to keep your mind active. 

2. Have a Goal

I've said this before but: having Blogtober, NaNoWriMo, and Blogmas as goals really helped me to focus and stay on top of creating, in a way that was motivating and didn't make me feel like I was wasting time. I like having goals that are relatively simple to meet--all that Blogtober and NaNoWriMo required of me was writing a little bit every single day. So instead of spending my evening watching TV or cleaning the kitchen, I wrote blog posts or I worked on my NaNo novel. 

Having a goal to works towards, for me, keeps me working towards something. I'm not a huge fan of big, big goals--but writing a blog post every day or creating a small piece of art every week is absolutely doable. And once you do it enough that it becomes habit, it's a part of your life--and it's something that can keep you creative every day, even when you're very, very tired. 

3. Create What You Can 

You aren't always going to be working within your medium of choice. I am a writer, but sometimes, I keep myself creative by taking on other tasks that keep my brain stimulated and help sooth my anxiety. Things like bullet journaling, coloring, cross stitching, and baking are huge stress relievers for me, and allow me to experiment, create, and feel productive--without being quite as mentally taxing as sitting down to write a short story or even outline a novel. 

You won't always be creating art that will win awards. Sitting down to doodle a page in your bullet journal or start a new cross stitch pattern might not feel like you're working towards any kind of goal, but you can multitask with both those activities (such as watch Married at First Sight, my guilty pleasure) and they help keep your mind from getting bored and sluggish. 

4. Take Care of Yourself

Like I said: you can't be creative if you aren't taking care of yourself. I don't stay up late writing or working on anything anymore. I certainly used to, but these days, when my sleep is at a premium anyway, I simply don't allow myself to do it. I make myself stop to make dinner or go to sleep. I make sure to spend time before bed reading, doing a face mask, or simply lying in bed, dozing or going through my day. Relaxing is an important part of creating. And even though I like to be in near constant motion through working and writing, I know that if I don't take some time to not create, the next time I really need to buckle down and write... I won't be able to. 

I Have It All (& Sometimes It Sucks)

A lot has been said about women and "having it all." A lot has been said about the pressure to achieve having it all and the stress that comes with that. A lot has been said about resisting the urge to "have it all." 

The truth is, having it all means one thing and one thing only: having your cake and eating it too. 

It's really, at its heart, a lame, boring concept. Yaaaawn. 

The truth is, I have it all in a certain sense: 3 days a week, I work a job I love, where I am respected, where I am trusted to handle decisions; 2 days a week, I'm a full-time mom, wearing yoga pants, pushing a stroller, going to Target. I'm married with one baby and one career that I don't plan to give up. 

I "have it all." 

And sometimes, it really sucks. 

---

Being a working mom is one of the most challenging things I've ever done. My three months of maternity leave were, also, one of the most challenging times of my life. For a while, I wondered if I was suited for either: what if I just wasn't cut out for motherhood or working full-time? What if, when faced with these options and my aptitude, the answer was, "Just kidding, you're bad at everything"? 

As things got easier, I fell into a good pattern. But the truth is, I'm still stressed out all the time. I have it all. I have the cute baby and the side blog and the nice husband and the good job. I have it all!

I also have a slew of anxiety problems, including a near constant worry about developing diabetes (I can't explain that one), panic attacks, and extremely disordered eating behaviors. I handle my own life exceptionally well for being so highly strung. It's almost a miracle. 

Sometimes, it does suck to never be able to sleep in, to have a hard day at work and come home to a teething, crying baby who just wants to cuddle or throw books or scream at me. It sucks. It does! Why aren't we saying it more? 

Sometimes, being the mom, standing there with a screaming baby, dinner burning on the stove, the dog barking, the phone ringing, the computer beeping with messages from the work Slack channel I swore I would ignore when I got home... it sucks. It sucks. 

It's the thing I'm not supposed to say. I'm supposed to be grateful, right? I get to work and I get days home with my baby. I get to have my cake and eat it too. Shouldn't I be happy? 

You know how sometimes you can be so excited for something? I get this way when I've dieted all week and I promise myself a treat--say a cookie or a pastry. When I get to that cookie, that cupcake, that scone, I often find myself disappointed. It never tastes as good as the dream cookie. Sometimes, it tastes amazing. But sometimes, it just tastes bad. 

That's having it all. Sometimes, it just isn't good. Sometimes, it just sucks. It's ok. It doesn't mean it sucks 100% of the time! But sometimes, it would be nice to just be able to eat Cheerios on the couch for dinner, to watch TV mindlessly for a few hours, to not soak and wash sippy cups and baby bottles while I ignore my emails. 

But you know what? I wouldn't trade it--just know, it's not rainbows and sunshine. Sometimes, it's rainbows, sunshine, and a little poop emoji. 

A Day In My Life

"What's it like to be a mom now?" 

That's the question I get asked most now. It used to be about Danny or my job or any number of other things. But now, people just want to know what motherhood is like--especially if they are expecting or not yet mothers themselves. It's something I love talking about because I think it's important to be open about what motherhood is really like. Unlike the (very funny) memes that float around on Facebook or the lifestyle bloggers that gloat in your Instagram feed, motherhood isn't 100% messy or 100% perfect. It's somewhere perfectly in between. 

This is a day in my life when I'm not working. My work days are infinitely more boring than any day at home with Forrest. 

Morning

I wake up, usually, around 5:30am. Both because I have an alarm set and because usually Forrest is awake by then. I get up, let my dog outside, make a bottle, feed the dog, start the coffee, and then run upstairs to grab Forrest. We usually lie in bed while he drinks his bottle (and I change his diaper). At 6am, we migrate downstairs where he plays in the living room while I make my morning coffee and our breakfasts. We eat at 6:30am usually and then play for a while. 

Forrest usually takes his first nap by 9am; I strap him in the Ergo baby carrier, turn on some river sounds on my phone, and walk up and down our driveway until he is asleep. Then, I get some work done at my desk. I write, answer emails, blog, and design for about an hour. Once he starts waking up, we go back downstairs. 

He usually has his mid-morning bottle at 10:30am. I clean up the kitchen while he plays. If I have time, I'll clean the downstairs bathroom and the entryway. At 11am, I put him in his high chair and give him something to snack on (banana, peach, or Cheerios), and make lunch. 

After we eat, we head in to the park to play and walk. I usually try to walk 2-3 miles, while listening to podcasts. 

Afternoon

When we get home from walking, Forrest usually has his afternoon bottle around 1pm. Sometimes, he takes a second nap during this time; sometimes, he just refuses. We play, sing songs, and read books until about 3pm, when I put him back in the high chair and start making dinner. As I make dinner, I narrate, sing songs, dance, whatever, to keep him occupied. 

We eat around 4pm (I know, we're old people). My husband gets home around 4:30pm and joins us. 

Then, we sit in the living room and play together, usually letting Forrest play with the bookshelves. After 5:30pm, it's time to get ready for bed. If it's been a while, Forrest has a bath. If not, he gets his last bottle as we put him in his pajamas and sing songs. Then, we rock in the rocking chair with river sounds for about 20 minutes. He's asleep by 6pm at the latest every night. 

Once Forrest is in bed, the party starts. I clean the kitchen and the living room, wipe down the tables, and clean Forrest's high chair. Then I go upstairs and get any additional blogging or work done that I need to. 

By 7pm, I'm usually done for the day; I'll read or watch TV, but most likely, I'll be planning meals for the next day or meal prepping or working out in front of the TV. 

My "me" hour is usually 8pm-9pm: I'll take a bath, clean the bathroom, or lie in bed playing Sims 3. I'm usually asleep by 10pm, thanks to reading in bed with my heating pad. 

Tell me: what's a day in your life like? 

Follow Up: Is It Possible to NaNoWriMo with a Newborn?

Months ago, in the time I refer to as "pre-Forrest," I wrote a little post about attempting NaNoWriMo the month after Forrest was born. At the time, I really felt like NaNoWriMo was both possible and totally impossible. So much of it depended on "how things were going" with the baby and, as I've written before, I had no reason to believe I wouldn't have the absolutely perfect little darling newborn. 

I got a comment recently on that old post about whether I succeeded at NaNoWriMo. In November of 2015, I had fully planned to write follow up posts--but if you go back in my archives, you'll see I posted only 3 times in an entire month. So that's how that went. 

I realize, however, that I never actually wrote a follow up. So here it is, nearly a year later. My NaNoWriMo with a newborn follow up. 

Did I Succeed? 

When it comes to success at NaNoWriMo, the deciding factor is, obviously, did I hit 50,000 words? The answer is no, I didn't. So I failed. 

However, I did write about 20,000 words in the first 2 weeks of November. That is obviously Not the Goal, but it's a sizable enough number, especially given the fact that I was caring for a very fresh little human, pumping every 2 hours, and taking care of a house. For the first 2 weeks of November, Forrest still slept relatively well in his swing for naps, so I could squeeze in 30-40 minutes of writing before I had to hold him and watch TV. (Not that I minded.) By the second week, however, he was rebelling against the swing, so I took to wearing him in my Boba wrap to write. This worked reasonably well until he started to hate the Boba wrap, so I was relegated to the couch again. 

In November, Forrest was still quite small and sleeping a lot--like, most of the day. If I got a few spare minutes, I was eating or making another pot of coffee or trying to clean up my house. I stopped worrying about NaNoWriMo and thus, gave up on it. 

I got about halfway there, which is farther than some people get. And, full disclosure, I also pumped about 800 ounces of breast milk in November, so who's a failure really? 

What I Learned

Life is nothing without lessons. Whenever I don't do as well at something as I expected, I try to at least take some kind of lesson from it. So, if you're expecting a baby and thinking of attempting NaNoWriMo with your newborn (or just-out-of-that newborn stage baby), here are my suggestions: 

• Be realistic. Not every baby will nap independently as a newborn. Some babies are great sleepers, but poor eaters, which means you have to keep a diligent eating schedule. If you are having your baby right before November, you have no idea what kind of baby your baby will be, so set realistic goals for yourself. 
• Know that you'll be exhausted. This goes without saying, but if you have a few spare moments to sleep, you'll take them--versus writing.
• Get a good wrap or baby carrier. I love my Ergo (I wish I'd gotten it instead of the Boba wrap). I still wear Forrest for naps in the Ergo now. It's easy to sit and work, or wash dishes, or do all kinds of things while you baby wear. 
•  It's ok if you don't "succeed." Realistically, you might not hit the goal, but if you try, you've still at least tried something. 
• At the end of the day, flexing your creative muscles, in whatever capacity you can, will keep you feeling human, even when your life is taken over by the tiniest, meanest boss you've ever had. 

Have you attempted NaNoWriMo with a newborn or young infant? Tell me about it on Twitter @michellelocke_! 

Adopting a "Me First" Attitude

"Moms put themselves last" is a phrase I hear probably at least 2-3 times a weeks--and it's a good one to hear. It's easy to allow myself to slip to the bottom of the pile, to be the last one who gets a shower or to eat. It's easy to think that, as a mom, I should come last. The tides are changing though and as much as some still cling to the notion that moms should, no matter what, be at the beck and call of their children 100% of the time, people are waking up the idea that, surprisingly, the minute you become a mother you don't lose your identity as a person. 

Before Forrest was born, I remember being so sure that I would never lose myself to motherhood: I would never be one of those women who finds themselves unshowered, in PJs, feeling stressed and unloved. I would also never, I assumed, co-sleep or bottle feed or any other those other things, right? It's crazy how my thoughts and mantras and plans come back to bite me in the ass. 

A few weeks ago, something clicked inside my brain: for probably 6 or 7 months, I didn't spend any time during the day not thinking about Forrest. Shout out to Forrest, he's great and interesting and very funny, but conversations are a little one-sided at this point. During my maternity leave, it was even worse; I had nothing to talk about with anyone. All I had to talk about was, in this order: Forrest, pumping, Forrest's poop, my diaper preferences, how many wipes, on average, I used during the day, grocery shopping and how stressful I found it, and random daytime TV. I didn't go anywhere, I didn't do anything. I stayed home with Forrest; I fed him, he napped, we played. That's it. 

Last week, I decided to start doing a few things to help myself, I don't know, get away from being just a mom sometimes. It's true that I go to work and during my work hours, I'm in work mode--but that's still not being me. That's not taking care of me or participating in something that makes me feel revived. 

For the sake of holding myself accountable, here are just a few of the things I've been doing: 

• More writing about things other than being a mom. If you saw me in person as I typed that, you'd see my shifty eyes, as I'm still, technically, writing about being a mom. But I'll have you know I have written almost an entire short story in a week. If I even produce one piece of non-mom, non-work writing a month, that's a plus. 
   
• Less photos of Forrest on Instagram. My Instagram went from a fun, 20-something feed full of pictures of coffee, notebooks, outfits, and food to a feed entirely dominated by pictures of a small baby person. It's probably not interesting to 65% of the people who follow me and it doesn't really serve to promote my blog either. So, sorry Forrest, less you, more me. 
   
• Demand time to myself. Sometimes, this thing happens where I cook dinner, Danny gets home from work, we eat, and then... Danny says something like, "I want to go finish this article." Then he's reading for 20, 30, 40 minutes. After dinner, it's a countdown to Forrest's bedtime of 6-6:30pm, so if we finish eating at 5:00 or even 5:30, that means I only get 30 minutes to an hour to myself, since I rock Forrest to sleep and lie with him in bed once he's asleep. The past few days, I've been handing Danny the baby and saying, "I'm going to do this, this, and then this." Those things might be "wash bottles, pay bills, and wash my face" or they might be "take a bath, write, and fold laundry." I deserve those minutes and I will take them.

---

There it is. It's all out on the table now. As much as I love taking care of Forrest first, it's getting to be personally draining, that's for sure. I don't ever want to be annoyed at taking care of Forrest, so if that means sometimes he plays while I read or take a shower or eat lunch... then so be it. 

The Truth About Losing a Passion

"I used to be really into photography," I say. I'm talking to a relatively new coworker and, even though the conversation continues without a hitch, I find myself drifting back to this. I say it a lot; I used to be really into fashion; I used to run a fashion blog; I used to be very into makeup; i used to be, I used to be, I used to be. 

It's been 7 months since I really had time for hobbies. I haven't been to the gym, gone running, scrapbooked, or written in my journal in 7 months. I just have more important things to do. Make up is a necessity now (and I praise whoever invented concealer, the beauty blender, and contour palettes) and so is clothing (one that I hate with a passion). I take pictures of Forrest and that's about it.

It's not that I don't enjoy these things anymore; I just don't feel passionate about them like I used to. I can still peruse the make up aisles forever, but I know I won't be posting reviews or anything else. I still use my camera, but it's less about getting better at photography and more about just taking some quick photos.  

There are no more pictures of stealing cups of coffee for me, or journals beautifully laid out on my desk. I drink my coffee cold more mornings and my journal sits on my desk expectantly. Right now, I'm wearing Forrest in the Ergo while I write this and I have about 20 minutes to write before it's time to play and roll and read books (all of which are super fun, admittedly). 

I miss being passionate about things, though.  

There is part of me that realizes I'm never going to be super into photography or make up or anything ever again. I'll probably find new hobbies, I'm sure, but I've moved on from the old me. I'll probably never run a fashion blog again. And that's ok, I don't need to. 

Sometimes, I feel embarrassed about how different I am from the person I used to be: I used to be thin and put together; I had hobbies and passions; my house was relatively clean and nice. But I have to remind myself that people change--I've changed. I'm just not the person I used to be anymore, and that's ok. I have other things to do now, things that are just as fulfilling and fun as photography, fashion, and make up ever were.