Last blog I wrote about how life had slipped into a beautiful haze over our first three weeks as parents. This morning, whilst cleaning the house (a task which increases in necessity immeasurably once you have a baby!) I was caught off guard by the realisation that I think my ‘young adult’ days have ended.
I’m 33, so technically they probably ended quite some time ago, I knew I had stopped battling the insecurities of my twenties a few years back, being in my thirties has been something I have enjoyed immensely. But suddenly realising I’ve become by many standards an “adult” now, approaching middle age was somewhat confronting and confusing.
I sat on the couch I had just puffed, the cushions I had re-arranged, folding bibs and onesies and enjoying the quiet that comes from having Sam asleep with Daddy in the next room. I was feeling some sense of accomplishment, having cleaned the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, sterilised the bottles, taken out the trash, tidied Sam’s room, tidied the kitchen table and documents and paid some bills when it hit me. When did I start feeling pride in having time to accomplish these tasks? When did this become the measure of me feeling “on top” of my life?
It was confusing. The old me would still be asleep if possible, sleeping til past noon is something I really (read: REALLY) enjoy, and yet today I am pleased by the fact that I have an orderly house and a sleeping baby under my belt. I used to cringe thinking about life as ‘a boring adult’… I panicked turning 23 because I felt like I was old! And yet here I am, ten years on, living life with Sam and my amazing husband, two Burmese cats and I feel more satisfied than I ever did running around to late night shenanigans and parties with friends.
When exactly did this happen?
Life with Sam has settled into a pretty stable routine for now, I love the minutes I spend snuggling with him, rocking him to sleep, watching his little facial expressions change and his personality unfold. I love having Stu home to enjoy all this with (caesarean means he can take carer’s leave to be with us) and I love that such little things, like a contented sigh from my son bring my heart such joy.
I think we complicate life too much with busy schedules and a need to be surrounded by people and noise all the time. We define our importance by the type of work we do, the amount of friends we have, whether or not we’re doing something on the weekends. Life with Sam is teaching me that none of that matters, really, what matters is love.
I love my family, and I am so grateful for this new chapter of my life where I can breathe and just be, find satisfaction in mundane tasks and moments. It’s the first time I’ve ever truly loved just being me. I have no one to impress, no petty arguments to concern myself with, just a little baby and a beautiful family to love on.
I’m sure the time will come again when busyness and schedules reappear, but for now I’m just going to soak up the joy of having nothing to do and nowhere to be except home with my loves, being a Mum.
Life goes way too fast. I want to make sure I revel in the minutes that fly past as Sam grows up, I don’t want to look back in regret that I missed them or that they went too quickly and I didn’t truly absorb and appreciate them.
So for now, if you were wondering; Yes, I love being Sam’s mum, and yes, I am enjoying this little slice of ‘boring adult life.’
Life with Sam is wonderful.
“He leads me beside still waters, He restores my soul.”
To The Fall 