not quite the old me

I'm sitting in the nail salon on a Saturday afternoon which is monumental for a few reasons:

1. This is the first time I've been away from the baby in what FEELS like forever.

2. I haven't had a mani pedi in LITERALLY forever. (God, help my technician ...)

3. I just picked this crazy, bright neon orange polish that is uncharacteristic of P.B.C. (pre-baby Christina)

And maybe #3 sums it all up.

I haven't been feeling like myself lately. I look in the mirror and the woman staring back at me looks nothing like P.B.C. Between the baby weight, the stretch marks & bags under my eyes I couldn't pick myself out of a lineup.

Motherhood is hard on the body, hard on the mind and apparently hard on my hands and feet.

"What's wrong?" hubby asked this morning after his workout. I could say nothing so I just sat there in bed in my too small PJs changing the baby's diaper until the tears welled up and I couldn't see anymore and I accidentally missed three snaps on his sleeper.

And that's how I ended up here. At the  nail salon. Getting "me" time. Drinking my Starbucks green tea frap (w/ two pumps of raspberry, thank you) just to feel like P.B.C. who didn't need to count calories and could splurge on a fine beverage at will. 

And surprisingly, just as I was searching for my old self, the neon orange spoke to me.

Now I'm normally conservative. Normally I play it safe. Shades of nude and pink always suited P.B.C. just fine.

But I'm NOT P.B.C. And I'm not really sure who this new woman is. But I know she likes the wild side. She likes big hair (the bigger the better). She loves buying shoes even if she has absolutely nothing to wear with it. She LOVES being a mom and a wife. But sometimes, when the glass is half empty, she needs something spontaneous to make her feel ALIVE. 

And today, Starbucks and neon orange nails just might do the trick. 

Not making any promises for tomorrow ;-)

Quiet

I'm a loud person. Really loud. The words "inside voice" mean absolutely nothing to me and I'm pretty sure I've never effectively whispered anything in my life.

But as I age and dare I say mature, I've come to appreciate the beauty of quiet when all is still and I can actually hear the clamor of my own thoughts and anxieties.

It's here that I face myself and grapple with who I am and who I want to be, which isn't a bad thing considering that life is short and altogether unpredictable.

Seriously when do we ever just stop and sit and be honest with ourselves, with God?

For me, it's a cup of tea and a journal, my Bible, this blog perhaps. Time to reflect. Time to renew. Time to slow down.

3:45a

All is quiet. The baby has finally finished his tossing and turning. My husband is fast asleep beside me. And I am up. Mournful and teary eyed and pensive.

At 3:45 am.

Emotions run high in these wee morning hours when I have time to reflect on how tired I am and how imperfect and what needs to be done the next day. I've spent many a night searching Google for some indication of when my life will get better, when sleep will come, when freedom will return.

And for all that effort I've come up empty handed. 

Sometimes I feel guilty complaining or even feeling the way I do. My son is so beautiful and his smiles and coos literally keep me going when I'm on edge. 

But when my husband gets home and I really want to go out but he asks me what we will do with the baby and we end up staying at home watching two movies while my mother-in-law visits ...

Or when I buy that first post-partum dress three sizes bigger than I'm used to and then feel so depressed I eat two whole brownies ...

And when we make plans to see a Nats game with friends but then can't find a babysitter ...

I end up here. 3:45 am releasing one of the only ways I know how and hoping, trusting that my sanity is right around the corner after a good cry and at least two hours of continuous sleep (fingers crossed).

Sometimes motherhood feels incredibly lonely. Mostly now.