Mortality

I should preface this by saying that I have always been a.) a hypochondriac and b.) a worrier. I'm not so much a hypochondriac that I'm in the doctor's office day to day, but enough so that every little twinge or unusual pain is cause for me to wildly imagine the worst possible outcome for an hour or two or overnight and then forget it again in the morning. 

Since having a child, however, everything has changed. Before I had a child it was all about me ... and let's face it, if the worst happened and I died, well, people would be sad and mourn, but they would all be ok eventually. And me, well, I wouldn't be there to worry about it. Of course I didn't WANT that to happen, and it concerned me ... but now the worry about things is always overshadowed by the knowledge that if something happened to me, there is someone who would be very, very adversely affected, for probably the rest of his life. Obviously The Boy has a great father and a lot of great family members, but not having a mother would be a pretty horrifying.

Now obviously I'm not sitting huddled in the corner in a little ball of fear over this, I am just using this as an example of one of the many ways that being a parent has changed me. I am aware of my own mortality, and how it might affect people; I am all encompassingly aware of the awesomely important role I play in the life of my child. And with that knowledge comes the further knowledge of how important it is that I live the best life I can, to be the best mom I can and to also lead by example -- living a balanced, healthy life so that I can be the best person I can be, and he can learn from that. 

One of the things that I need to get better about is taking time for me. I'm not at work today, I'm at home. Alone. I dropped off my son at daycare and came home to have a day to myself. I have a massage later today. And I felt incredibly guilty about doing that. I believe that working for a living is best for him, so I don't feel guilty when I'm working and leaving him at care. I do feel guilty sitting here alone enjoying myself. When I turned to leave him at daycare today -- a happy, playing boy -- I felt a terrible twinge of guilt.

And I know I need to stop that. I need to believe just as strongly that taking time for me is in his best interests. I can say the words, and other people can say them to me, but deep down inside I still don't really believe it. I'm coming to that realization, slowly, but for these first three years of his life, I poured every single iota of myself into my child and my home and my husband and my work and left nothing for me, and it really hasn't been a good thing. I felt so good for so long making everyone around me happy and safe and well, and I don't regret for a moment that I dedicated that time to him especially when he was so young ... but now I need to do some reorganizing and some reeducating, of both of us. I need knitting. I need time alone. I need to write. 

I need to show him that I am important too, so that when he's an adult and a parent, he'll do the same, and take care of himself. So he'll respect himself, his partner, and other adults. It is a good thing, to take this time. It's important. 

And soon, I hope, I'll really believe it.