Staying Me

So you might have heard: I'm a stay at home mama, now, and have been for 6 months.  And I am finally feeling like I am growing into this slightly-more-often-clad-in-workout-pants-even-though-I-am-not-working-out skin.  My house is finally starting to trend more clean than messy, although it will always be a home that a friend once aptly described as "lived in," which I actually like.  My kids are healthy and happy and transitioning super duper well into our new family dynamic.  I'm even cooking more, including pureeing veggies to slip into dishes. My house is starting to declutter and become more organized.  Sheets are getting washed more often, and not just for bodily fluids. I'm working on breaking up with my not-so-secret lover, T@rget and our almost every other day dalliances.

But most surprisingly, I am happy.

I never thought I would be good at being a SAHM.  The two times I was unemployed as an adult were horrible, depressing, slothful periods of my life, and I was terrified that would happen again, only with two little lives getting sucked into my "The OC" marathon sessions. 

But none of that happened this time.  It could be because this time I went into it knowing the stakes, planning the future out ahead of me, and surrounding myself with support.  Or it could just be that I've changed.  All I know is that I can't think of a single day (excepting the grieving days and the potty training days) where I woke up thinking "I wish I didn't have to be on duty today."  I don't regret leaving my job, which I loved.  I don't regret pairing down Little Bug's school schedule slightly so that I could have him home with me for part of the week.

I might not like doing dishes, laundry, cleaning, or cooking, but I am starting to take pride in having them done by my own hand (not that they were being done by anyone else's hands before). 

I love putting Little Bug on the bus each morning and standing in the driveway to wave to him until the bus drives off and his head can't crane around to see me anymore.

I love cheerfully but quietly greeting my sleepy and confused Little Bro after he stumbles out from his nap.  And I love how he want to lay on me for another 10 minutes after that while we sit quietly and listen to each other breath.

I love the sound of my dishwasher and laundry machine going at the same time while sun streams through my windows.

Granted, I'm not going to win any awards.  My tub hasn't been scrubbed in awhile; my bedroom is a mess; and my attempts to make spaghetti pie with carrot puree and spinach meatballs turned was one heck of a fail.  And I am blogging right now while a pile of dishes sits in my sink. But I wouldn't be me without some disastrous cooking attempts, dust bunnies, and a skewed perceptive on blogging.

And I am still me, just a me who is there more for them.