twenty-nine

Twenty-nine today.

Let me just go on the record and say that 28 probably wasn’t my favorite year. It wasn’t the worst (I wouldn’t go back to 17 if you paid me a million dollars) but I certainly don’t think it brought out the best in me. Sleep deprivation and some postpartum depression made me a monster while figuring out how to balance two kids under two. It’ll go down as the year I bitched about my kids too much. The year I had a baby that was unnaturally large, then I gained weight and was suddenly and rudely introduced to this weird body I was told I needed to learn to love. It’ll be the year I laid in bed every single night with a rapid heartbeat while I imagined my kids being kidnapped, the dogs getting hit by cars, or some other horrid thing. The year I overcooked, undercooked, or just royally fucked up more dinners than I got right because I got distracted by everything. The year I told myself half a million times that I was a shitty mom and I had no business being responsible for two tiny humans.

As I’m typing this I’m realizing that 28 was the year my brain and I went back into battle.

See, we’ve been to war a lot, my brain and I. Over a decade of it. We chilled there for awhile after I got pregnant with Cora and throughout her first year, but once Dexter was born and I got bit by the ol’ baby blues we’re back to all out warfare. Every now and then this think tank of mine pops out some good stuff, but more often than not I’m telling it to chill the fuck out and just. be. quiet. (It doesn’t listen.)

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28 felt a lot like barely keeping my head above water.

I think for my last year in my 20s I just want to be kind to myself. I think it’s hard to be kind to others when you’re not kind to yourself first. I want to take care of my body because it’s done some pretty kick ass stuff the last few years. I would like to lose about 15-20lbs, but more than anything I just want to eat good foods and get to the gym more often to blow off steam…if I lose the weight, great. If not, I guess I’m meant to be flabby. I want to take better care of my mind, and let go of the guilt I feel when I allow myself some downtime. I want to give myself grace, because I’m horrible at that. I stress if every little thing isn’t checked off my list for the day. I need myself to remember that we’re seriously doing fine. We’re doing better than fine, really.

I’m positive that 29 will hold some fantastic things for our family. My hope is to be present. To chill the hell out. And to be kind.

Here’s to 29 and being kind.

And not voting for Donald Trump.

*runs away before someone uses the term “libtard” again”*

– amanda

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