Today is my second day as a 37-year-old.
I’m exhausted. Today I’m exhausted because I’m wearing my glasses instead of my contacts. I hate wearing them. I feel half blind in them. Go figure.
I’m exhausted this week already because I feel like I’m on the verge of something. And that feeling is limbo. It’s like there is something nagging me in the back of my brain. The problem is that I have no idea what it is.
I’m exhausted this month because I’m getting the full understanding that the each choice we make leads us to more choices that we have to make and before we know it we are at a place where we don’t want to be. And the territory that was once familiar is now foreign, and what used to be foreign is more like home. And home isn’t always welcome or welcoming.
I’m exhausted because I’m a parent. Not just from the daily routines of making sure breakfast gets eaten, showers are taken, homework is done. It’s from the constant thinking. The constant watching out, looking ahead, taking a backseat. Yes, I’m tired of putting my kid first. It feels brutal to say, and is brutal to feel, but I feel it nonetheless. Tired of being the parent in charge the majority of the time. Some weeks it’s 90%, some only 75%. I dream of 50%.
I’m tired of taking a backseat to people with plumbing needs. (Seriously, don’t just thank your plumber, thank your plumber’s wife, because chances are she doesn’t get to see her husband a whole heck of a lot during the week. And sometimes the weekends too.) If it’s 10 PM and you have a clogged kitchen sink, why don’t you just go ahead to bed? I’d much rather have my husband in bed and asleep at 1AM than driving than driving home from your house. (Oh, and as I was typing this, approaching 10 PM, someone was calling my husband with a kitchen stoppage. I kid you not.)