At thirty-six, I learned that my job...is a job. I returned to work from maternity leave about two weeks after my birthday last year. Instantly I saw my job in a whole new light. I always took work way too seriously, no matter the employer. My job was my life. After having Punky, it fell into proper perspective. Finally.
At thirty-six, I figured out how to hold a baby... under one arm... for several minutes... at exactly the right angle needed to prevent additional, unnecessary squishing of diaper contents... while using my free hand/arm to finishing loading the dishwasher. Pausing to change the diaper would mean the dishwasher wouldn't get run that night. I'd never get back to it.
At thirty-six, I discovered that peeing alone is not an option with a mobile toddler in the house... and turning the roll to come under instead of over saves many sheets and much aggravation... even if it is the wrong way to roll.
At thirty-six, I learned that plastic kitchen utensils and bouncy balls are some of the best toys around and can amuse a child for hours. Next baby shower I attend, I'm buying a set of spatulas and a pack of tennis balls. Okay, I'll throw in some diapers, too.
At thirty-six, I realized I can handle this "mom" thing. I still have tons to learn and adventures to experience, but now I know I can do it...and I'm good at it...and I love having finally found the confidence to say so and believe it.
At thirty-six, I was spit on, shit on, puked on, and peed on more times than I care to remember...and I didn't throw up once. I can grab baby boogies and pull them out with my bare hands and not even gag at all. My easy-queasy stomach has turned to stone in what surely qualifies as the grossest year of my life.
At thirty-six, I allowed myself to get a bit lost in my new role as mama; I now realize I need to focus more energy on my other roles in life as I embark on the next chapter.
Today is my birthday. I am thirty-seven.
Could be worse, I suppose. Could be better.
Yet it's the happiest time of my life.
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