Mondays are my designated day to talk about all things (mundane and complicated) motherhood.
I used to look at moms with style - moms still in their stilettos and size 2 dresses on a daily basis - and think, “That’s how I want to be.”
Now I look at the mom who has, by most standards, “let herself go” and there is no judgment. I know where the series of decisions came from that led her to choose sweats over skinny jeans for her afternoon errands.
I am no longer impressed by the mom who can look flawless. Maybe her cookies taste like dirt.
It doesn’t matter how long you stare up at the ceiling in bed, pouring your mind over images from the day, reminding yourself how fleeting this time is, how beautiful your children are, how it won’t always be like this.
There will still come a time when you look back nostalgically, and then you’ll think about how fleeting time is, how beautiful your children are, and how it won’t always be like this.
There is no answer to the time war. You just have to enjoy it as it happens and not beat yourself up about “staying in the moment.”
I’ve been having these dreams lately where stuff gets stolen from our house, where I discover that someone has taken things from us but done no other real harm. They go hand in hand with the other anxiety dreams I have, where I can’t get the correct phone number dialed or where I’m driving too fast down a hill.
I don’t need a psychologist to tell me what the dreams mean. I know what they signify.
I’ll probably keep having them.