So, the Irishman and Parker are getting here on Wednesday. Needless to say, I'm not so patiently waiting for their arrival. More than any other status that I have (wife, professor, thirty-something), I identify with being a mother. In the criminology world, we would call this my "master status." For obvious reasons, I have found it exceedingly difficult to be a mother without having Parker near me. I find myself bringing him up in conversations with neighbors and store clerks just to share with this new community that I am indeed a mother and not a young college kid (which is the standard impression of strangers). I don't help my cause with my uniform of tanks, jeans (or cut offs) and a baseball hat.
I have to say that the most surprising thing about having a child is the struggle to maintain who you are, or at least who you used to be prior to children. Thankfully, I have found a good balance between being "me" and being Parker's mom; however, I've had a bit too much of the "me" part lately and I will gladly submerse myself in motherhood when the munchkin gets here.
My life these past few weeks has felt like a pale imitation of what it normally is. It's a bit too quiet, a bit too calm. Things are functioning a bit too smoothly. Being a wife and a mom comes with loads of chaos, noise and frustration, but I know with certainty that I much prefer the frustration to the aimlessness that I've been feeling lately.
So, for the next few days, I'll finish out my temporary routine, which mainly consists of walking the dogs, working online, cooking, cleaning and of course, fretting about my child who, while in exceedingly capable hands, is far from me.
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