return to present day

Last week, I took a vacation from work. We all have a preconception of what "vacation" is supposed to be. Going places, doing stuff, relaxing, adventuring, getting away from everything.

There is no such thing as getting away, not for me, not right now, because I won't take any real breaks from my responsibility to my child.

What's preventing that is the fact that I don't want it to be like my child is only along for the ride. He isn't an accessory. It is essential that he be an equal part of the life we're building, always.

Being the parent of a tiny person means, to me, giving up my independence for a time. It's the hardest thing about being a parent right now.

But I'm stubborn and won't change my mind on that point.

Eventually, as my child gains his own independence, I'll take mine back.

Although I didn't "get away," I had a glimpse of something during my vacation. Each day, there would be maybe two hours, a small window of precious time, that I was alone and not needed. And if I closed my eyes so I couldn't see the disaster my house has become, it felt like stepping into a time machine, back three years or more, to a place where decisions took into account me and that's all.

Me.

This type of time travel is bittersweet, almost dangerous in its seduction. It weakens my resolve and makes the return to present day an internal battle between my will and my capacity. This lifestyle will continue no matter my capacity to handle it, until the time comes that it's best that I take my step back.

Priorities. I am far down my own list. For two years, I've been below even the cats. That, at least, will change soon no matter what anyone thinks. Letting go of the guilt and the worrying about what other people think is one way, at least, to make a little room in my capacity to deal with life.

to travel before I die

I've got the traveling bug lately, and not a two-hour road trip. I yearn to see certain parts of the world that feel very much out of my reach. I've begun a Pinterest board of the places I must see before I die. The list in progress not only fills me with wonder, but also a painful sadness, because many of these trips don't seem possible.

My list so far... http://pinterest.com/sayschu/to-see-before-i-die

I'm curious what's on your list. Let me know. And I highly recommend Pinterest for organizing these fantasies.

a trip in photos

 My 13 month old, growing up.

official 13 month photo

Waterpark!

love a boy with attitude

Thanks to my mother-in-law, I get to appear in some photos and you all get to see how badly I over smile.

bungee adventure for grandpa, daddy, and aunt

 

By the end of the day, he was a little vacation-ed out, and only his grandpa (not pictured) could make him really smile in the hotel pool.

On sharing a hotel bed with a toddler

Though it has suffered from mild neglect, this blog is very important to me. As proof I offer the fact that I am here typing now when I could be sleeping after a night spent wide awake on a hard box of springs hotel bed with a squirmy monster toddler. I have to sit at the kitchen table to type because if I sit on the couch this post will read fjawneh578gfdngawr a 87ry err7yaw475njh vgjAWEI serthn5 hngbdMJY DFUV7 edrtyjhn5 RHT which is what my head would write when it landed, sound asleep, on the keyboard.

Evidence that I am crazy: I took my 13-month-old to a hotel and had hoped to sleep.

Evidence that I have the best little boy in the world: He had fun. His tantrums, so warranted, were shockingly brief. He took his naps. He slept all night to his usual, 6 a.m. He saved his poopy diapers for the hotel room only.

He loved all the new places and activities of the Wisconsin Dells. He loved waking up to not just mommy but a room full of family members. He ran and played and slept and ate pizza.

It was my first time spending the night in a bed hijacked by with my son. He fell asleep there, then stayed asleep when I moved him to a portable crib for two hours, which is when he woke up and made a pissed off "where the heck am I" whimper, which led to the sleeping arrangement between mommy and daddy. If anyone is concerned about the dangers of co-sleeping here, don't bother. I didn't sleep -- not even before, when he was in the crib. (Hello, I'm 28 years old and have the body pain of a 70-year-old with arthritis.) Certainly not after, when he was squirming and rolling and whimpering and digging his little feet into his daddy's back.

That's all the complaining I'll do, though, because the blessing of this little boy weighs the scales heavily in my favor. Plus, my very first period since conceiving Fletcher ended the day of the trip, and that's some awesome good luck.

The rest of the photos will have to wait because my little guy is waking up.