Recently, while driving home from a trip to visit my newborn son in the NICU, this incredible feeling came over me. I cranked up the hard rock music on the stereo in my minivan. I glanced in the mirror and was happy with what I saw for the first time in months. I began to plan out in my head the full sleeve tattoo I always wanted but never allowed myself to get; a tree with branches spreading out across my skin, birds in midflight.
I’m not sure where the feeling came from or what it was. Maybe it was just the hormones – I had recently given birth to twins after all. But it kind of sort of felt like freedom.
I feel terrible for even thinking this, of course, especially when I had just left my poor baby behind in the hospital. By the time my twins were born, I had been a mom for six years already, if you count from when I was newly pregnant with my older daughter. Before getting pregnant with her, being a mom was all I thought about. I was already in my thirties, and beginning to worry that I might never get to have children. I count myself incredibly lucky for meeting my husband when I did, and being able to get pregnant right away when we started trying.
My twins were born as a result of IVF. I was one of the lucky ones; it only took two attempts and about six months from the start of our IVF journey to get pregnant. Prior to that, I had suffered three miscarriages in a row in my attempt to have a second child. Now our family was finally complete.
But there is no mistaking that incredible feeling that came over me in the car that night.
I felt young and alive, ready to take on the world. I finally had my body to myself again (mostly – I won’t have it completely to myself until I’m done nursing) and I could start being me again. Or so I thought for that brief moment.
Of course, that high that came over me didn’t last long. Soon I was living in a bathrobe, spending my days nursing two tiny newborns while also taking care of my older daughter who requires an incredible amount of attention. Not to mention the usual household chores, grocery shopping, meal planning and cooking. The normal stuff that comes with being a wife and mother, multiplied by a thousand now that we have newborn twins added to the mix.
Still, I made time to visit a tattoo parlor a few weeks later to go over the design I had in mind. We discussed my ideas and he showed me some sketches. We scheduled an appointment for the following month and I was so excited to finally be doing something for myself. I was really happy with what we came up with and couldn’t wait to get it started.
At home, I am always “Mom”. I am nursing twins which is mentally and physically draining. My older daughter is homeschooled, and yes, this is something I believe in strongly. But some days I find myself wishing she was in school just to get a little time to myself. She requires my attention constantly, and the twins have taken up so much of me that I feel extremely guilty if I don’t give her whatever extra time I have.
After everyone is in bed at night, when I would usually get to relax or spend alone time with my husband, there is either too much to do or I am just too exhausted to even stay up. “Me time” isn’t really a thing right now at all. Even writing this post is for the kids. It’s my attempt to find a way to have more time for them in the long run. I write in bits and pieces in between caring for everyone, or when my husband is home and can take over for a little while without going crazy.
The day finally came for the tattoo appointment.
I mentioned my babies while the artist was getting things ready. Suddenly his face changed. He asked if I was nursing. I proudly announced that yes, yes I was! He told me he isn’t allowed to tattoo nursing mothers and I would have to come back, down the road when I was done breastfeeding. I left feeling disappointed, and stupid for not having even thought about this at all. So, for now, my tattoo dreams remain on hold.
There are things I miss about when I was just “me”. Reading books just for fun, binge watching television that is inappropriate for children, spending two hours getting ready to go out on a date. I miss being lazy. I miss cooking spicy food, or any food that isn’t made with the pallet of a five-year-old in mind. I miss staying out late and sleeping in. I miss sexy clothes. I miss sex!
And I still really really want that tattoo.
Sometimes I just don’t want to be a mom for a little while.
But I am a mom, a mom of three beautiful perfect children that I would trade my life for in an instant. I waited my whole life for this and I don’t take it for granted even for a second. Sometimes I miss the old days when I was “me” – but now I am “Mom” and I will be “Mom” even after I’m gone. It’s all I really ever wanted and I have absolutely no regrets.
Even if I never end up getting that killer tattoo.
