I'm also not sure how I managed to survive while I was trying to raise my kids and work 50 +/- hours per week.
But I love my life now. Staying home, raising my kids, making my family my number one priority, cooking, cleaning, crafting, gardening, puttering around the house, it all suits me just fine.
I'm happier now than I have ever been in my life.
But there are days, oh, my, there are days, that I just need a little space. A minute to think. A moment of silence. A trip to pee without an audience.
And those times are few and far between.
One day last week, RJ, sensing I was nearing the end of my patience (READ: acting like a stark raving lunatic) said to me "Hey, since I'm off tomorrow why don't you leave Cooper with me and get out of the house for a while?" I automatically declined, just like I always do, then I backed up a minute, took a deep breath, and accepted his offer.
This is no small feat for a martyr like me.
But really, I did just need a couple hours to live inside my own head, where I am most comfortable.
So I went out, completely alone, for the first time in about six months.
And it was wonderful.
All I did was get a haircut - long overdue and impossible with a three year old in tow - then run some errands, but I went into a couple stores THAT DON'T HAVE CARTS which I almost never do when Cooper is with me, and I spent way too long in the craft store and the fabric store because not once did I have to say "Stop touching that," or "Please don't grab that," or "No, we are NOT done here yet."
And then three hours later I came home completely refreshed and ready to play pirates or superheroes of attack the mounds of laundry that are ever present.
And now, nearly a week later, I'm still feeling better because of it. It's hard to believe that such a little thing like a few hours all to myself could have such a long-lasting impact on my mental state.
But it really did.
And that's ok.