Seismic shift

7 Jan

I never really wanted to be “someone’s wife”. And I never really wanted to be one of those moms whose days revolved around her children. I wanted my own life, I wanted my own interests, and more than anything else, I wanted to retain my independence. When we moved, everything I thought I was, everything I thought I wanted, everything in my life completely shifted. My days are now filled with laundry, dishes, vacuuming, ironing, sewing buttons and thinking about healthy meals and snacks for my family. Sometimes I find myself feeling like I’m living someone else’s life, I mean, this is Merritt. 110% independent, snarky, and a total disaster when it comes to anything domestic related. Or at least that’s how I thought I was. Maybe I’m not at all who I thought, and maybe that’s not such a terrible thing.

This morning I got up with Chris at 5:30 to have breakfast with him before he went to work. Granted it was Eggo waffles, but the old me would’ve never done that. I would have half-heartedly said goodbye to him as he left, not even bothering to open my eyes. When it was time for the kids to get up, I would have gotten them up and gone back to bed, confident that they could take showers and get ready themselves, certainly capable of getting their own cereal. Now, I get up before them so I can make them a hot breakfast, usually something along the lines of scrambled eggs, peanut butter toast and some kind of fruit, that I’ve peeled and sliced for them. They eat at the table, with the tv off. We chat about what they have going on at school, I quiz them on vocabulary or spelling words, and they’re seeming to love every minute of it. What’s nuts is, I am too.

I’m taking great pride, I’m talking GREAT pride, like I live in the freakin Taj Mahal pride, in my home. I’m painstakingly choosing everything that goes into this house. For instance, it took me 3 weeks, no exaggeration, to choose a backsplash. It took me 2 weeks to decide on the wall scheme of shelves for the kitchen. I’ve arranged pictures, then rearranged them again to make sure that they’re perfect. I make my bed every single day, complete with frou frou pillows and a puffy comforter, just like in a magazine. You know, I actually even considered ironing my sheets, but I thought that might be overkill. The table no longer has laundry folded all over it like it did when we lived in Maine. It’s folded and put away immediately.

So what’s the difference? Is it because I’m not working and my only job now is to be a wife and mother? Is it because the climate is warmer and I don’t feel the need to hide under blankets to stay warm? Is it because the day light lasts longer and I don’t feel that familiar depression creeping in? Maybe it’s all of it. Maybe it’s none of it. But for the first time in my life, I don’t care why. I don’t need to analyze. I’m happy, and I’m exactly where I want to be, where I need to be. I’m still crazy, and I still rock my pink bathrobe like nobody’s business, but something’s just different. And I like it.

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