Mothering is a Marathon

I wheeled out of the driveway this past weekend with the sounds of the baby crying and Bodhi grumbling about me going to see a “poopyhead” friend. (Gotta love 7 year old insults.) I did not feel one iota of guilt because a.) I knew the baby would be fine in a few minutes and b.) even mommies need playdates.

Wow, what a difference a second child makes. I don’t think I left Bodhi’s side for more than a few minutes for the first 9 months of his life. And even then, I was in the next room. I didn’t go out at night with friends until he was probably 5 – or maybe even 6. Looking back, it showed.

Back then I treated motherhood like a series of sprints. Yes, I can make it through today. Sure! No break tomorrow either! No worries (but I’m secretly shriveling inside) I’ll hit the ground running the next day… and the next and the next.

With our oldest, I took on attachment parenting to the extreme. I ran our home impeccably. Like many moms, I was the only one who knew doctors appointments, shoe sizes, school schedules. I took care of every present for every birthday party and detail for Christmas. And when I did take a “break” from Bo, it was to squeeze some work in because that’s the only way I felt justified about not being with my child.

Over the years, I grew resentful. I resented that my husband could go off to work without thinking of who was taking care of our child. I resented he could go off with friends, he could take a motorcycle or bike ride, heck, he could go anywhere without feeling the tug to be at home or check his watch for the next nursing. I made everything I did look effortless, so let’s just say he was mighty surprised when he found out that I was not happy about our situation.

While I love being a mother, I forgot an essential piece of the mothering equation. Me. The mom. My resentment wasn’t truly toward my husband (who is a dear). My resentment was simply sounding the alarm that I wasn’t taking care of myself. I wasn’t raising my hand for help.

I didn’t make time to take care of myself because I didn’t deeply value all I was doing for my family – so I didn’t think I deserved taking a break. I love to be nurturing – but I’m human and don’t have an endless wells of energy.

By the time Téa arrived, I knew that mothering is a marathon. You have to pace yourself. You need support staff, hydration and plenty of nutrient rich food. For me, that looks like making time to meditate, go out with friends for deep conversation, read, sleep, journal, do yoga – without kids around.

I have trained myself to make time and space for me – without the mommy, wife, homemaker or even career woman hat on, preventively. I do my best not to blow out, i.e. wait until I’m overly stressed, exhausted or just plain crankypants to relax, reset and refill.

I have the desire to have more time to devote to my career and to my own interests. And I have the sense that my children are growing crazy fast and will soon be married with their own children. (Bodhi is 7!! How did that happen?) So I sit in the midst of yes there will be a time for career focus. Yes to enjoying wee one days. And yes to taking care of myself now.

Amazingly, when I do make time for myself, I can revel in the mess and madness of life with little ones so much more. When I go off to work for a few hours, I come back eager for kisses and non-stop stream of consciousness stories. I’m excited to see my husband again.

Time outs are essential not only to me, but to my family life. I am modeling how they can create a relationship with their true self and with their significant others. When I make time for myself, I’m teaching my littles that mommies are valuable people too. Our quiet time, our playtime, our work time feeds our souls – and our families.

So I bear the tears at the doorway and the disappointed faces when I drive off into a kid-free few hours. Slow and steady wins this race. No more sprinting for me. Because when I replenish throughout the mothering marathon, and I circle back home, I’m smiling. And usually they are too.

And you? Do you treat mothering as a sprint or marathon? Do you make time for yourself? Comments please.