Waking Up from the Trance

I realize I've spent a lot of words on this blog extolling the pleasures of our new life as homeowners.  Don't get me wrong: in contrast to living with my in-laws, knowing how we struggled to get to this place, it's a dream come true.

But I'm not perfect.  My life isn't perfect.  It isn't perfect here, by any means.

I've been feeling a nagging discontent in my subconsciousness for quite some time.  On a daily basis, I am happy being a work-at-home-mom.  My marriage is good.  But I've been feeling off, like I'm in a trance.

I took a hard look at my typical day, and there is, quite apparently, room for improvement.  Some of my ways are bringing me down.

Usually I wake up at the same time as Emmie, around 8-ish.  For many moms, it's unheard of to sleep in this long!  We're really lucky that Emmie has always been such a sound sleeper.  I hear her start to coo and play with her stuffed animals in her crib, so I get up and go get her.  We have breakfast and then watch an hour of TV - usually Sesame Street.  Then we go out in the yard, run errands, whatever for a couple hours until lunchtime.  We eat, and she goes down for her nap.

And so do I.

This is where I run into trouble.  I have always enjoyed reading in bed since I was a little girl.  When we lived with Bruce's parents, I got into a bad habit.  Seeing that Bruce's dad was always downstairs watching TV, I would spend the time during Emmie's naps in our bedroom to have a little privacy.  My recliner was in there, so sometimes I would sit and answer emails on my laptop, write this blog, or work.  Pretty often, however, I lay in bed and watched TV.  Or read. Or napped.

Looking back on my time there, it's clear how depressed I actually was.  I was like a slug for a year.  I didn't do anything.  I had all these goals, and very few of them got accomplished.  I never lost the baby weight; I didn't feel comfortable exercising on the creaky floors with Bruce's dad beneath them.  I didn't have a car much of the time we were there, but even when I did, I barely ever went anywhere.  I was a self-imposed prisoner.

It's calling to me right now.

Now that we're here, I find myself following the same routine.  Emmie goes to her room, so do I.  I usually end up falling asleep and don't get anything done.  Then at night I toss and turn, sleeping at most a handful of hours.  The cycle keeps repeating; with so little shuteye, I'm exhausted by nap time.

The sloth stops now.  I have to kick this.  I need to get motivated.  I created a new rule: no bed during the day.  I've read that spending time in bed when not sleeping can confuse the body.  That's also probably why I have trouble at night.

I'm also considering setting the alarm again.  Every ounce of my being, after years of walking to the the school bus at dawn or schlepping the 9-to-5 (or 6-2:30), screams, "Why?! WHY?!!!!"  But I think if I start waking up before Emmie, taking a shower and drinking a cup of coffee by myself, I might be more productive.  Experts also recommend waking up and going to bed at the same time every day for better sleep cycles.

Right now, I'm watching my daughter on the video monitor, curled up on her side, tucked under her blankie and napping peacefully.  My eyes are heavy, but I refuse to submit to the sandman.  I've got work to do.  Who knows?  Maybe I'll even workout.

I can do whatever I want.  I have the house to myself.  

It's a new dawn.