I broke a cardinal rule of parenting last night. I fell asleep before my kid. It wasn’t intentional, though I guess it never is. Rowan was just fine without me, and when I woke up 45 minutes later, he was sitting on his bedroom floor, with a line of stuffed animals, each one with a book and a diaper.
See, I’ve been feeling stretched a little thin these days. I’ve been working a lot more, which is great, don’t get me wrong. Rowan stays with my mom, which is all well and good, but I know what a drain it is on her, so it leaves me feeling terribly guilty.
I’ve been knee-deep is several other projects, and investing heavily in my Grandmothers. Rowan, still my top priority, has been very “two” in that the tantrums are frequent and lengthy. He needs a lot of patience and understanding and time. It’s emotionally draining, but all par for the course.
Rowan and I are leaving in two days for a two-week visit to New Mexico. It’s where he was born, and where I keep some of the most wonderful people I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. It’s like going home for me, and I’ve been looking forward to this trip for a while. I have not, however, done any planning or packing yet. It’s very unlike me, and it has me a little stressed. Not to mention worrying about flying (which I hate) and keeping ourselves from getting kicked off the plane because my child won’t stop throwing himself on the floor and screaming.
Last night I had myself a good cry, felt sorry for myself for ten minutes, realized that was dumb, pulled myself up by the boot straps, and made Rowan dinner.
Finding a balance has always been hard for me. I’m an all or nothing kind of person. When I get something in my head, I follow through. When I decide I’m going to do something, there is no hesitation, I just do it. Sometimes I decide to do too much. I go until I drop.
I’ve got to find that delicate balance between doing what needs to be done, and going overboard and doing what needs to be done for everyone. Eventually, someday, I’ll fit in doing something for myself.