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Ramblings of a mom-person

The other morning, my four year old son asked me to read him a book. I had just emerged out of bed and walked into the kitchen donning sweatpants, t-shirt and messy hair bun. A.k.a, the I’m-so-freaking-tired-mom-look. My husband had let me sleep in after a night of sleep training our 9 month old baby.

I do the gentle kind of sleep training, the kind where I run at the first sound of a whimper, sit on the rocking chair next to the crib and pat the little guy on the back until he falls asleep again (and repeat). It sounds insane, and in the moment, it feels insane because in my attempt to gain more sleep, I have never been more exhausted. But I swear this method worked with the older one (for a few months anyway). I digress. Anywho, that particular night was rough and that particular morning I really needed my coffee. And the conversation with my four year old went like this:

Son: Mommy, can you read me these books?

Me: Wait, first I want to eat breakfast like a person and have my coffee, then I’ll read you the books.

4 year old: I don’t want you to be a person. I just want you to be a mommy. Just a mommy. Not a person.

I burst out laughing. Of course I had to, it was hilarious. How did my four year old manage to sum up the internal conflict of every mother in the universe in that one sentence? Am I a person first, or a mom first? Can I even be both? Sometimes I think to myself that if there’s one thing in the world that I want to be damn good at, it is at being a MOM. And sometimes I dream about being a writer and burying myself in novels and notebooks all day.

But in my spare moments between work, diaper changes, reading 1001 kids’ books, long nights of baby sleep soothing, instead of indulging myself in my dreams and aspirations, what do I find myself doing?

Mindlessly scrolling on my phone.

Like am I serious? What a waste, I tell myself over and over again. Waste waste waste. And that’s when I’m most frustrated. I’m using my ‘person’ time ridiculously. I should be reading. I should be writing. I should be exercising. Sleeping. I should be making myself a healthy meal.

But nope, there I sit, time and again, with a cold coffee, my fifth wafer, and my phone. And to be honest, that’s when I feel the least like a person. In those moments, I’m just a tired being with a tired brain.

But tonight I chose differently. I spent one hour putting the baby to sleep (pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat) and then a short time putting the four year old to sleep (book-book-book-book), entered my room, was about to sit down with my phone and suddenly decided - NO! I will use this time to write. I will sit down and put my nonsensical tired mom-person thoughts on paper and write a post that I think I have the intention to publish on my blog but may not. I reminded myself what the purpose of my new blog was in the first place - “to write about whatever the heck I want.” And well, I guess I chose this. And that makes me a person tonight. Not just a mom. Not just a tired being with a tired brain.

As I type, it feels like I’ve woken my brain up from a deep slumber and my brain is like THANK YOU, FINALLY. The brain gears are rusty, but they’re chugging happily. My ever constant choice of reaching for the phone in an in-between moment is such a damn shame that I am calling myself out on it. I can do better. I owe the person inside this mom the time of day to grow as a human, develop as an intellectual, recharge with something of substance, and fuel myself with real sustenance.

Am I being too harsh on myself? No, no I’m not. And even if I am - good! I’m so over that little screen. Over it. Overrrrr it. You’re either all judging me right now, or you’re feeling the same way. Regardless, I present myself a challenge - for the next two weeks, each time I want to reach for my phone, I will instead have a choice of: reading, writing, eating (healthy), exercising, or best of all - sleeping.

Challenge accepted by me. I’ll report back on how I do.

Till next time,

Sarit, a.k.a mom a.k.a still a person

I just wanted a pic.

Sometimes the pics work out.


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