strong
independent
I can do it myself
I can handle it
will do it
and well....
No need for a thank you
or
flowers, or a pat on the back.
The fact that I could do these things - prove myself, that was enough.
I had a do all be all attitude. I needed it - what was on my plate was huge
A husband gone working before the sun and long after it set. Baby after baby after baby, after what? one more baby? Running a daycare to boot. Plus insert many medical ailments and surgeries and pain. A house to keep up, a family who needed my body, heart, soul, and spirit. Children to chase, shape, and tend.
Doing it all plus is what I do. Without me doing my job my husband could not do his like he is able to do and vice versa. We know this. We do not argue on this point, sometimes point this out to each other, but agree.
It has worked.
Until lately.
I am done being strong, fierce and stubborn.
I am tired.
An engine can only run on high so long without a break and some maintenance.
I am ready for flowers, and pats on the back. I yearn to lay my head in a lap and have my hair petted. I want to be taken care of, if only for a short while. Daily tasks are slipping and I could care less. "Your socks are in the basket, won't kill you to dig for them."
You would think I would have reached this point in the middle of my kidney stone surgeries- throwing up on the side of the Highway with a car full of babies coming back from a basketball game where I made an appearance - keeping up appearances you know. Socializing the children. All important. Coming home from giving birth and being alone with two very small children and a newborn while bleeding and pale from exhaustion, two in diapers always. Dearest having little choice but to go back to work - or get docked pay. These are the days you think I would have laid down and given up - but my stubborn, put your head down, and get the job done attitude took over. This was necessary. Survival mode kicked in, and I am grateful for it.
But, no more. For awhile - I want flowers, and diner, and new clothes. Someone to notice my shoes and that my boobs look amazing in my new bra (thank you peri-menopausal hormones for making them grow!) Movies, and flirting, fun, and dancing. I want out. I want crowds, socialization. I want change. Dearest's position is safe in all of this - no fear. He is the one I want petting my hair and handing me the flowers and take me out so I can dance (he himself isn't a big dancer), we need something to look forward to. We need to get out. We need a change.
pics from vi.sualize.us
