Getting Back to Me

It's amazing how much a tiny little baby can consume in energy, time, and priority.
Claire turns a year old next month and it's just been in the last week that I've been ready to take care of me. 

I went to my hair stylist and got all the gray out.  I went to the eye doctor and got new specs.  I went to the salon and treated my hands and toes. And then, I put on my shoes and went for a run.  I was really anxious.  No, I was terrified.  I hadn't seriously tried to exert myself in a long time and I was resolute that this day, this hour would be mine.  Equipped with a new play list and determination, I owned it.  And, praise God, restored my faith in my body and my will power. 

I don't begrudge the sacrifices that come with motherhood and I recognize that I certainly don't have to spend as much time as I do with my children...but I know now, more than ever, that if I don't take care of me, there will be nothing left for the ones I love.

So, it's time to run...it's time to read...it's time to sleep...it's time to dream...it's time to write...it's time to recognize that I am not exclusively a mother.  I am a woman...a complicated, crazy ass woman who is thankful to exchange the nursing bra for a sports one and the maternity underwear well for...we'll see, I'm still not sold on the thong.  But you get the picture.

Hats off to the feminine and my resolve to get back to all of me.