The adjustment and transition of adding a toddler to two older kids isn't quite as smooth and calm as it was with a baby. It's not even because of the literal toddling around that she is doing. She is growing, and so is her personality, and so is her drive. She is a feisty little thing, who is daring and determined. And I love her little big personality. I love it with every fiber of my being, but by the end of the day, whew, I am left exhausted.
I do not remember fourteen months being so demanding and needy. And yet, as we move further and further into the season, I have vague recollections of stubborn toddlers throwing themselves on the floor, or crinkling up their noses, or pointing adamantly at what they want (and are not getting) and screaming. I have a renewed appreciation for nap time. (Not that I was ever taking it for granted.)
Also, I have recently taken it upon myself to (re)learn how to sew. For a very good reason, Adam has gained priority to the computer in the evenings, which limits its availability for writing (we have one computer and no, I can not do much writing during the day because of said fourteen-month-old). So since my creative soul was not getting what it needed from words, I turned to fabric and my mother's sewing machine.
We have spent a lot of time lately discussing and contemplating what we are doing, what we want to be doing, what makes us happy, what we want for our lives, what we want for our family, where we are and where we want to be. I have spent many hours logging in thoughts on what I want and what I need and what our family needs.
I can not say that I ever imagined living in my "starter home" with three kids at age thirty-three. But then, I don't think I ever really could imagine what my life would look like at thirty-three at all. There are so many things that I am in love with about our life. There is so much that brings me happiness and joy.
But I can't help feeling like there is a whole part of my psyche, a whole big part of my soul that is unexplored and unexamined. I feel like it's that whole "you only use 2% of your brain" type of thing, except that I can (and should) be able to be using more. I have never been good at deeply exploring what makes me happy. What I am interested in. What makes me feel the most alive. I have never been a fall-head-first-into-something-and-gain-as-much-knowledge-and-experience-as-I-can type person. I am much more of a do-several-things-average/mediocre rather than become-an-expert-at-one-thing.
My husband recently cautioned me against spreading myself too thin and while I don't necessarily think it's happening, I understand and appreciate the sentiment. I tend to find something and dabble, until something gets in the way and suddenly it's too hard and too much work.
There is a part of me that thinks I need to change this. I need to fix this. And then there's a part of me that wonders if it's okay for that to just be who I am. If it's okay for me to give up every time I feel like it because if I really loved it, if it was a true passion, that drive and fire would be ignited and I would think it worth the difficulty and work to continue.
And then I go back to just wondering if I'm lazy. In which case it is most definitely something I need to change.
And speaking of change, I do not like it. I have a hard time with it. I like things the way that I like them and I don't want things changing unless they change in a way that I want and I decide.
Also, I'm looking for a part-time job.
And I have nothing else to say about that.