This weekend, my husband and I had a
"Yeah, well I can't even brush my teeth or go to the bathroom without the baby all over me."
"Well why the heck not? You have a playpen, a crib, a swing, and a high chair. Put her down and go to the bathroom."
"Well, that's not the point. Maybe I'd do more housecleaning, if you'd come home and hold her instead of always handing her back to me when she cries."
"Well, maybe I would if you hadn't spent the past 9 months telling me I was doing it wrong."
I don't do that. Do I? Oh gosh, do I?
I love my kid. I love to snuggle with her, I love to play with her on the floor. I love taking her for walks, going to playgroups. I love babywearing.
But geez, people, I'm not a machine.
Sometimes I need to sleep. And sometimes I need to eat. And sometimes (I know, I know), I need to go to the bathroom.
And you know what? Sometimes I'd like to read a book, and focus on it for more than 2 minutes at a stretch, or take a bubble bath, or exercise or sew or bake. And sometimes I'd like to do those things without a baby on my hip or climbing up my leg.
And maybe that's okay.
Maybe it's okay to put her down for a few minutes now and then so I can switch the laundry over. Maybe it's okay to let someone else take her outside if she starts fussing in a restaurant. Maybe it's okay if I'm not 100% available to her 100% of the time.
I don't think she's spoiled. I don't think I've done any harm by giving her all of myself. But maybe I've done me a little bit of harm. I feel exhausted. I feel touched out. I feel like I'm losing me. And I'm tired of whining about it. I'm tired of acting like I have no control over the situation. I'm tired of blaming other people for not helping me when I haven't given them any opportunity to do so.
I'm tired of being a martyr, folks. I'm tired of doing this to myself.