The Selfish Mom

Lately, I’ve become a bit of a lazy slug.

That’s the truth of it: while normally I eat well, read well, limit my TV viewing to sports and the news, and exercise with pleasure, the past week it’s been completely the opposite. While I’ve still managed to get out every evening for my run, I’ve found little joy in doing so, and have been moving along my route as though I’ve got an open parachute strapped to my back. And then there’s the fact that instead of eating my favourite healthy foods, this week I let an entire bag of apples go soft in the fridge while I overdosed on trail mix (my ass is clear evidence that it is not as much of a healthy snacking alternative as one might think). And don’t even get me started on setting up Netflix in my bedroom so I could watch The Vampire Diaries in bed. I feel like I’m experiencing that new relationship phenomenon where instead of living your life you find yourself in a state of semi-hibernation with your partner, where you both spend most nights snuggled under a blanket in front of the television, wrapped up together and building a layer of fat for the winter through shared bowls of popcorn.

So tonight as I dragged my paving stone feet along the sidewalk, panting like a shot bear and wondering how the run that I’ve been doing for years suddenly became so damn hard, it occurred to me: maybe it wasn’t the workout that was sapping my energy, but rather my mental and emotional state.

You see, after spending 99 days in a combined hospital and NICU stay, waiting with a starving heart for my daughters to come home, one can’t help but let things go a bit when the day finally arrives. I’d spent my 3.5 weeks on bed rest reading and writing voraciously to distract myself, and I’d spent the 2.5 months while my girls were in intensive care working out like a madwoman to give myself the illusion of control over my life; now that the battle is over, my inner warrior is ready for a nice long (fat) rest. But that’s a problem; just as dropping your independent life for a new boyfriend isn’t okay, neither is doing the same thing for your children. I’m sorry, maybe some think that championing selfishness makes me a bad mother, but I stand by my point: you had a life before you had children, and at some point you have to get back to it. I know there are lots who would disagree with me on that; I’ve been the recipient of many a disdainful stare by mothers at the hospital or baby stores who are in sweatpants with unwashed hair and look down on me because I’m not, as though because I managed to find my way into the shower and a pair of jeans I must somehow be less of a parent than they are. It’s this oft-held belief in the competitive mothering world that the best moms are the ones who give everything, including their body and happiness and every second of free time to their children; we’ve all seen the e-cards with some variation of ‘being a mom means no sleep and puke-matted hair but it’s worth it!’ Pop up on our newsfeed. But I disagree with that ideology, in a very big way.

See, while over the past 3 months and especially the past week I’ve spent my fair share of time awake at 3am, covered in spit-up and wondering if I should spray myself down with Febreze before leaving the house so to not offend people, I don’t wear that like a badge of honour. On the contrary, while motherhood will always require a large degree of self-sacrifice, I still think the best moms are the ones who prioritize themselves as well; in doing so not only do they make themselves happier and therefore better parents, but they also teach their children how to have a steady, balanced life and that’s much more important than being there to soothe every single cry.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying it’s even remotely easy to ignore a fussing baby or to pick up a book rather than your child, all I’m saying is that sometimes it’s just as necessary. It can be ridiculously, dangerously easy to lose yourself in parenthood, and much harder to push yourself in the opposite direction. Going shopping with friends, getting a haircut, reading a book, or having a date with your partner minus your children can leave you with the most awful guilt, but I’ve realized this week that it’s so incredibly important so as to retain an identity outside of “mom”. Most of all, I’ve learned that, just as in any passionate relationship, it’s easy to become codependent with your children and no matter who it’s with codependence is never healthy.

So, I have to get back into my routine. Stop putting down my book because my twins seem so much more interesting, stop spending my entire run thinking about them and bolting into the house without stretching afterwards (because feeling like you’ve been run over by a truck the next morning really doesn’t make exercising easier), and most of all resume eating foods that give me energy, not things that make me feel like passing out facedown in my pillow covered in crumbs. And seriously, there have to be better ways to direct my attention than obsessively viewing the lives of feuding teen vampires, amiright?!

Besides, whenever I feel that creeping guilt that strikes me as I put on my sneakers to go for a run, I have to remind myself that while I might think I’m hurting my children by leaving for an hour, I’ll hurt them infinitely more if I squash them with one of my fat rolls that’s a result of never leaving the house and binging on frozen pizza.

...A little lesson from life's imperfections.