2009 wasn’t that great of a year for me. I feel guilty the instant that statement comes out of my mouth because these are, or are supposed to be, the best years of my life.
I know that. I tell myself that often.
I am thankful that we are alive and that we are all healthy and I know that there are people that are not. I’m glad that we have a roof over our heads and I’m glad that I have two perfect little babies to snuggle up to when I need a hug and a husband that is the true definition of patient. I know that I have more than a lot of other people.
Some days I tell myself these things and I feel better.
Some days I tell myself these things and I feel even worse.
Like, I am even failing at trying to tell myself to be happy.
I started 2009 curled up in a ball on the floor of my son’s nursery crippled with a 102 degree fever and a violently upset stomach. I couldn’t will myself to walk back to bed after nursing him to sleep because I couldn’t bear the thought of getting back out of bed when he inevitably woke back up screaming. I didn’t wish a single person Happy New Year and no one wished me one.
Six days after that, I turned 29, spent the day changing at least 30 nasty diapers, and then drove myself to the grocery store after the kids went to bed and bought myself a piece of chocolate cake. I choked down tears and cake and I went to bed alone.
Those two experiences pretty much sum up the entire year for me. There were bright spots to be sure but overall, it was hard and lonely. It was full of trying to live up to my own expectations and oftentimes feeling like I am letting myself and my family down. When I do take the time to look in the mirror, I see a lot more wrinkles and a lot of extra, unwanted pounds than I care to see.
I love my kids more than anything in the world and I’m not sure I even need to say it because it should be obvious but if I had to pick one thing to do for the rest of eternity, I would want to be a mom.
I would want to be their mom.
It’s just, I don’t know. There isn’t a lot left of the old me and I’m still getting to know and learning to love this new me. I’m two and a half years into this mom gig and I’m still trying to figure out where my needs fit in the needs pie chart. I'm learning to admit that it isn't wrong of me to expect a spot for me on that chart.
I’m hopeful that this will be the year that I figure it out. That this will be the year that I quit feeling guilty for wanting more or for having too much or for not being better at seeing the cup as half full instead of half empty. Maybe this year I'll quit wishing for my old size two self and accept that the size eight me isn’t that bad. Or better yet, I'll make the time to get the size two me back.
I can’t help but feel a bit of hope about starting a new year. I can’t help but feel hopeful that this year will be the year that I get it all together. That this will be the year that I will live life for what is rather than for what I thought it would be.
In a few days I’ll leave my twenties behind forever. The new decade will start and my thirties will start and I'm looking forward to the new beginning.
I’m looking forward to reconnecting with old friends and to meeting new friends.
I’m looking forward to watching my girl spread her wings a bit and I’m looking forward to getting to know the boy that my baby is growing into before my very tired eyes.
I’m looking forward to some time with my husband that isn’t spent negotiating who is going to stay home with which sick kid and who gets to put who to bed tonight.
I never thought I’d say it but I think I’m looking forward to my thirties.