Monday, June 6, 2016

It Won't Be Like This for Long

My kid is doing this amazing thing where he wakes up around 5 am every day (the sarcasm is coming through on the amazing part right?) This morning he graced me with his adorable presence at 4:30 am, about 30 minutes after I was awakened by the street sweeper outside my window. Needless to say after being in Ann Arbor for the morning, working all afternoon and fixing dinner/lunch for tomorrow/tidying up the house it feels like I've been up for 48 hours. 

Being Will's mom is magical. Even on long days that seem interminable, I love being his mother. He's a wonderful little boy. Watching him figure out how to navigate life is a amazing. But sometimes at 4:30 in the morning I wonder how I'll make it through the day. How many cups of coffee will it take? How will I focus on everything happening at work? Because even when one has an easy, happy child, being a mom takes an insane amount of work.

I'm all too aware these days that I'm also still not myself. The steroids I'm taking combined with antibiotics are finally working, but I feel sluggish. Waking up hours before the sun comes up doesn't help. The medicine makes me hungry and irritable and listless. It's worth it to pull myself out of this Crohn's flare once and for all, but that doesn't make it easy.

I started running again two weekends ago, and I've slowly started cross training again. It's slow going. I feel out of shape and languid. But yesterday my run was interrupted by a thunderstorm, and I found myself smiling as I sloshed through the rain. My shoes were soaked and heavy. My contacts were swimming in the water in my eyes. I had to stop at the downtown YMCA to call my husband to come get me because I wasn't comfortable running home in the lightning.

Running in the rain was exhilarating, and I felt myself back in touch with my runner self. Today my hips and knees are more sore than they should be. While I'm not entirely back to normal I'm starting to find myself again.

While I was running yesterday I was thinking of the Darius Rucker song "It Won't Be Like This for Long". Whether it's my Crohn's flare or the early mornings with my little guy, as my mother often says: this too shall pass. My summer wardrobe consists of flowy dresses reminiscent of Stepford Wives. My core is puffy, and this morning I caught my skin in the side zipper of my flowy dress. I wanted to cry, and then I reminded myself it won't be like this for long.

At a graduation party last weekend. I am (and look) so tired in this photo, but I love it so much.
When my son is hitting me during a toddler tantrum or crying at 5 a.m. I remember that someday he'll be a sullen teenager and not my little baby. I soak up every moment, even the frustrating ones, because I'll never get those back.

I chased him around all night (my husband is out of town). Look at that mischievous face. I wouldn't change a thing.
Life has thrown a few curve balls at me lately. I am not doing a great job at slowing down because let's be honest...we knew I wasn't going to. I'm trying, and I'm struggling to move at a slower pace. But I'm trying which is more than I would've said six weeks ago. I'm taking the medication I've been asked to take despite the extraordinary emotional stress taking steroids creates for me. Last night I had a long to do list, and I enjoyed one of the crepes an awesome friend dropped off for me along with a glass of wine. The to do list is still there tonight it turns out. 

Making a mess and feeding the dog. Heart. Exploding.

It helps to think that whatever I'm struggling with, it won't be like this for long. One day soon I'll look back at this time and think it wasn't so bad or so frustrating. Maybe I'll see photos of myself in these dresses and see that I look cute instead of puffy. I'll remember the precious grin and laugh of my little boy and not these early mornings. This phase is going to fly by, so I'll embrace it. Puffiness, early mornings, irritability and all.         

Also even listening to this song makes me bawl. Do so at your own risk.

 

 

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