I was having lunch with K the other day and talking about how tired I was and how my dear son hadn't slept and I never have any time to myself. (Yes, whining)
And she said,

"You make it sound really fun to have kids. Can't wait."

I backpedaled, hard and fast.

Because you see, having my son has been and continues to be the absolute best part of my life so far. Marriage is great too, but there is something so incredibly interesting about raising a child. His accomplishments make me feel like they are my accomplishments--I get so excited about them. I'm not talking about the people who live vicariously through their children by forcing them to do sports and stuff. I'm just talking about the triumphant feeling when your 18 month old poops and pees in the toilet.

Not only am I excited for him, I'm excited for me.

Because that means I'm getting closer to being done with the diapers.

Sometimes I look at other moms and wonder if I haven't adapted well enough, because some of them seem to make life all about the kids. I'm so not that person. I find that after a few days of no breaks from my kid that things get a little intolerable, and you just get the feeling that you are sucked dry.

I need sleep. I need to shower without a kid waiting in the pack'n'play in the hallway. I need a restaurant meal that does not involve me paying $13 for an entree and spending the meal picking up food off the carpet (and really? Carpet in a restaurant? Not great interior design work there) and taking so long managing my kid that my food gets cold.
A maid and a dog-walker would be nice too.

I am blessed with a wonderful husband who takes care of Holden a lot on evenings when I have homework or for a Saturday afternoon (his ulterior motive is watching football). But that doesn't fill up the empty tank. Even when I'm taking a "break" from my son, I'm feeling guilty that I'm not with my dad. Or my "break" is spent at the hospital with my dad. Or doing homework. Or getting groceries.

I'm stretched about as thin as you can get without falling apart.

I'm starting to miss my old self. The self that wasn't quite this exhausted or this sad. The self who didn't burst into tears in the cereal aisle of Wal-Mart. I'm missing the self who used to talk about things other than housecleaning, medical terminology, and grief. She existed before all this, I know she did. On my drive home today I was imagining her well rested with a new pedicure, new highlights, and wearing a cute little outfit and very high heels sipping a martini with a friend at the Starlite lounge.

I haven't asked my husband, but I'm sure he'd like to see that woman again soon too.