I have decided that raising babies (babies of all ages, because even when they can wipe their own bottoms, and perform other miraculous feats, they will still be my babies) is not unlike training for a marathon. Not that I have run a marathon. But I did train for one. And then wrecked my knee so badly in the process that the day before the race that I could hardly walk. Also, I did a triathlon. So there is that.
We share because we are family
Both of them are stressful in this weirdly enjoyable way. I looked forward to runs (or swims or bikes…memo to biking, I think invented a new verb for you) in the same sick and twisted way I look forward to playing with my kids. I know it might make me throw up, or at least get really stressed out and exhausted, but it also seems to make me a better person. And I’m proud of myself for doing it. And it is kind of fun, even though it is really tiring.
Carbs are key for both events. I don’t know if it is nursing or not sleeping through the night anymore, or general apathy for healthiness. But I can’t eat enough carbs lately. I’m constantly carb-loading like I have a race to run. And that race is called, playing with two crazy little kids. For example, yesterday Maggie was home sick. We sort of missed lunch because groceries are for suckers and Cork was busyand Maggie was being a hellion in the car and I didn’t have the courage to try to put her back in that car seat. (What is it about kids in car seats when they first start to get mobile? They think a car is just exceedingly insulting and redundant. They can crawl/toddle/sorta walk ANYWHERE, right? BTW, Maggie started walking! Sorta!) So I ordered pasta from Dominos to be delivered. I got chicken pasta with bacon in a bread bowl. Because what goes better with carbs than more carbs? Bacon! And yeah, it was awesome. And I deserved/needed it.
Most importantly, my mantra. When I was training for/competing in the triathlon, I always had this nagging feeling that I wasn’t training hard enough, I couldn’t run fast enough, I was just going to sort of embarrass myself. And you know what? I decided that is ok. My mantra was, I’m not out to break any records. It might be a competition for some people, but I’m just here to try my hardest and hopefully have some fun and not throw up. Same thing with parenting. I feel like you can constantly feel bad that you’re not doing more. You can compare yourself to other moms or some impossible standards for Having-It-All perfection and always feel stressed out. Or you can just throw away the stop watch, rip off the race-chip and enjoy the run/bike/swim/kiddos.