I only have about 15 minutes to type this. I'm going to the gym in the afternoon, which is rare for me. I'm gonna do the treadmill, and after I work out I will wipe off my machine with the gym's new oh-so-helpful antibacterial wipes, and I'm pretty sure that my sweat is gonna contain a lot of the small stuff.
I was slowly simmering yesterday because of exhaustion, boredom, and a really good dose of hypochondria that has led me to believe I have a terrible disease. Then it all hit the fan in the middle of the night when my husband came to bed at 1:30 a.m. (remember he's a night owl). Nathan was in my bed, because that's what he does as part of this nearly year-long "phase" he's in. And I know, there is going to be That Person who says, "My children would never be allowed to sleep in my bed. I made it clear that my children aren't welcome in my bed. If I were you, I would tell him to get out."
Shut up, That Person. Your hair looks ugly today.
Anyway, as I was saying, Nathan was in our bed, and Bill noted that possibly some of Nathan's urine was in our bed, too. Now, I know this is really gross TMI, but my reaction to urine in my bed at 1:30 in the morning is, Oh well, the damage is done, let's go back to sleep and I'll wash the sheets in the morning. But instead my husband turned on the overhead light, roused sleeping/leaking Nathan from bed, made him take a bath, changed his pajamas, and then took out approximately 57 blankets and for himself and Nathan to sleep on the floor.
It was around that point, with a protesting, angry Nathan, that I cried Uncle. I felt overwhelmed. No more pushing myself to go to hard classes at the gym twice a day; once a day is sufficient and admirable (if I do say so myself). No more constantly feeling like I should be doing more, more, more. No more unattainable self-improvement goals.
Now, part of this frustration was due to the late hour and the interrupted sleep. I remember when Nathan was born, I read something that said that the hours between 2:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m. are the most distressing to adults. If you were in some kind of wild, bar-hopping phase of your life, 2:00 a.m. might not be an unreasonable bedtime. If you were doing a morning workout, catching an early flight, or getting to work early, 5:00 might not be an unreasonable wake-up time. But the hours between 2:00 and 5:00 are not natural times to be awake, and thus they are disconcerting. Many a time I have fretted about something in the middle of the night, only to wake up in the morning and with a completely different perspective on the matter.
But when I woke up, I was still crabby. I got Nathan to school, and then I went home and went back to bed. No crazy gym workout (hence going this afternoon), no frantic series of errands. The dishwasher and the laundry and the drycleaning could wait until later.
I slept for 2.5 hours. It was awesome. I mean, yeah, I felt guilty. I had to get over the feeling like I didn't deserve that break. I mean, So-and-So has those three kids/ten-hour workdays/important have-it-all life and she's not taking a nap in the middle of the day on a Thursday. But you know what? I'm not So-and-So. And who am I hurting by giving myself a break? It's not like anybody else is going to just hand me one.
I also can't swim like Michael Phelps or cook as well as Martha Stewart or run as far as, umm, anyone, but you don't see me beating myself up for that.
Anyway, I don't have a conclusion for this post, and it's time to go. I don't have it all, and that's okay. I have enough.