Saturday, May 14, 2011

identity crisis

After I wrote the title of this I spent half an hour looking up the etymology of crisis. And felt nostalgic for all that time I used to spend looking up origins of words. (The etymology of 'nostalgia' is one of my favorites by the way.) Because for the past months I haven't had time. For myself. I don't know if I ever said 'myself', because my point of reference for all things became that little girl that arrived in our life. I could tell that I didn't feel the same kind of 'us' between my husband and me for those first months. I certainly didn't think of personal goals. There was not really an I - just a 'we' - this little girl that occupied all my energy and time.

But as you know I just spent a half hour looking up trivia about a word. (I just made an impulsive frown, feeling bad that I called a word's origin trivia. Sorry 'crisis'.) Annabel went to sleep at 7:30 (thankfully, since she's falling a bit off the sleep wagon..ironically since my blog post about her super sleeping). Gabe is at the Tech Shop. I am here. With TIME. 

And ever since she's been sleeping, I've found myself with TIME. It's like it's brand new. And it's also forcing me into an identity crisis. I've been thinking about it more since I read my sister's blog post. Her baby is 6 weeks old, and I wasn't nearly at that point of questioning an identity besides mommy. I was in a sleep-deprived haze of nursing and diaper changes and worrying about her gaining some weight. I remember when she was nearly three months old thinking 'ok, this is starting to become a bit more manageable'. I had some time to maybe cook and clean. But my baby didn't sleep much until 5 months old. And that is when some spare minutes started creeping in. Minutes where dinner was made, the house was relatively clean, bills paid, baby sleeping. Like now. And I am starting to feel like Alysa again. Like maybe I want to have a goal that is something totally personal. But I have no idea what that is. I almost feel like I'm rebuilding from scratch.  Because all these goals and choices will have repercussions. If I work, and where, and how long I'll be away from the baby. Do I go back to being a therapist? If not, how do I justify my umm...tenth career change? But doing therapy at the moment sounds totally not fun. I'm craving something literal and goal-oriented and mentally challenging. Something with words and numbers and not the abstract, emotional, circular feel of counseling or art therapy. And I definitely do not want to do something involving angry teenagers. 

So we'll see. I'm trying to be patient and thoughtful and optimistic vs. pouty and self-critical and impatient. My mood isn't helped by the previous gray week full of cicadas. They are everywhere. I get grossed out just walking to the car. And they are loud. Check it out:

Well, I'm going to go lounge around in some spare time. And I will not make scones. Because last time that happened I ate five of them in one night. Five, people. And I knew how much butter went into them. Sheesh. 

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