I am a full-time working mom of a toddler. And that’s just the beginning of things to describe me. I am a stepmom to two teenage girls, wife of a busy and active rugby player/working dad, middle child, assistant manager, mom blogger, library blog blogger, boot camp participator, sweets eater, amateur baker, and aunt of four.
The one thing I forget sometimes now that I’m mommy, is that I am also a daughter to my own mommy. And I’m really lucky that, when push comes to shove, she will let me take off all those other hats, push all those other roles aside, and just be a daughter who needs her mom.
A few weeks ago I was feeling distraught, upset, and just plum tired. I had a week full of minor inconveniences, nothing major, but my anxiety made it impossible for me to view it that way. Every little thing felt like another shot in the heart.
So I called my mom.
She offered to put me up for the weekend and take care of me, and I jumped at the chance. My husband was fully supportive since I was a nightmare to live with, and we agreed that I would make myself scarce that weekend and the boys would have a mommy free weekend of sword fights and pizza and late bedtime. And probably tv of which I wouldn’t approve.
I am lucky that my mom only lives about an hour away, so we met in the middle. We got lattes and spent the morning walking and visiting the antique stores of Camden’s Main Street. We found the cutest little bookstore, and then had lunch together. Then we headed to her house where she had set up Hotel Mom for me.
The upstairs bedroom had fresh sheets, a fragrant candle, a little heater to keep me warm, and a space for me to charge my phone. She brought me water and turned off the lights and I slept for four HOURS. I had brought a few books along, but once my head hit that pillow, I was out. I didn’t have to worry. The baby was fine. I was fine. And that dreamless, deep sleep completely refreshed my tired soul.
Being taken care of by the only person who would understand why I was so tired was just what I needed, and I am so grateful that she dropped everything to take care of me, who always resists admitting I need it and relenting to it.
I am sharing, really, as a way to call out and brag about my caring mother, and also to encourage you to let those who love you help you, even if it is tough to admit. Don’t feel guilty for taking time to recharge, with or without someone else’s help. I know how lucky I am to be so nearby my family, and I cherish the time I have with them.
