Space

"I am always so ready for Myah to go down for her nap, but then once she's down, I can't wait for her to wake up again.  Do you know what I mean?"

"Totally."

No.  Actually, I feel the exact opposite.

The above quotes are from an exchange my sister, Tammy, and I had before her youngest was born.  We were both mothers of one girl.  Her daughter is two years older than mine.  Tammy was describing the feeling she has about spending all of her time with her daughter, why she lets her stay up late (Myah's bedtime has always coincided with her parents bedtime), how she comes home from work before going to the store so that she can take Myah with her, and so on.

I, on the other hand, transitioned Celaya into her own room when she was around 9 months.  She has a routine 8 o'clock bedtime, 8:30 is pushing it.  I prefer to go to the grocery store before or after work, alone.  And while I don't necessarily look forward to her nap, I pray to the nap gods that she will stay asleep for at least an hour and a half once she goes down.

Why?

For a long time I felt guilty about this difference between myself and not only my sister but many mothers.  Do I love my daughter less?  Do I have less of a connection with her than other women have with their children?

20 months after she was born I now realize more and more that it not only has nothing to do with a lack of mother/daughter bond or connection, but, in reality, it has nothing to do with her at all.  I have always been this way.  Since I left home, a small house perpetually crowded with people of all ages, shapes, and sizes, I have craved, more than anything else in the world, one thing:  space.

Only recently have I really been able to come to terms with my need for space, and this last week while my mother was here for 11 days, I felt fully aware of the one thing I was missing.  I had no time inside my own head.  Celaya went down, and my mother was here.  I came home from work at night, and my mother was here.  Don't mistake my meaning.  I love having her here and would have kept her longer if I could have, but the truth is that if she lived here, if she stayed for longer, I would make it a point to accommodate my need for space.

I feel bad about it sometimes.

"Go to bed," I tell Carlos when I find him still up when I get home from work.  "I want to come home to a dark, quiet house.  You need your sleep.  It's win-win."

Evil, right?

How could I insist that my sweet husband who only wants to spend some time with me go to bed and leave me alone?

Because it makes me a better person.  I'm sure of it.

If I can have my own personal quiet time, just a little bit each day, I can give everything else to everyone else the rest of the time.
I need my time to write.
I don't want to blog while the TV is on in the background.
I need time to watch my silly shows.
I don't watch TV while my daughter is awake.
I need time to focus on myself, to just think.
I don't think about myself, my needs, my goals, my personal feelings, when other people are around.  I am concerned with them, their needs, their goals, their personal feelings.  I am serving, cleaning, cooking, tending, loving, smooching, snuggling, listening, etc.  And I love these things so much that I can fully embrace each moment and give everything I've got.

But only if I get my space.

If I don't get my space, I become irritable, frustrated, curt, I make stupid mistakes, I get negative, I basically become downright bitchy.  And nobody likes me bitchy, especially not me.