Parenthood is frantic.
Parenthood is a rolling cage filled with thousands of lottery balls, each representing something that NEEDS to get done.
Parenthood is retrieving one of those balls and, maybe, doing just enough to toss it away because the task is either completed or forgotten under piles of other priorities that have just come to your attention.
Parenthood is that task ball being replaced with 5-10 more things that weren’t even a thought a moment ago, but now the quality of your, your baby’s, and your family’s life depends on completing it to the best of your broken ability.
Parenthood is starting off the day with wild intentions that your determination says are the foundation of having your life together.
Parenthood is realizing those intentions have the sturdiness of a house of cards.
My point is, I didn’t clock in the long run I wanted to this week AND I have a butternut squash I bought a lifetime ago, giving me the most disappointed look you can imagine because I filled its gourd head with dreams of one day becoming a delicious purée to be enjoyed by someone who will just as enthusiastically eat dirt.
So we’re clear, I’m speaking about the baby. I don’t eat dirt.
Coupling baby raising and marathon training takes a level of strategic planning that has never been the forté of my right brain-dominated mind. I avoid meticulous training schedules to preserve the enjoyment I get out of running and the freedom it represents.
Baby raising is the opposite.
I live by her schedule; cramming bite-sized, loose definitions of marathon training around nap schedules, meal times, and afternoons that are wiped away because Baby suddenly has a high temperature. More times than not, I feel like a wide-eyed idiot for cheerfully adding marathon training to all of this. What was I thinking?
I was thinking about crossing that finish line with Eleanor’s chariot in tow, putting an exhilarating explanation point on this first year of parenthood, and feeling capable enough to keep going.
I was also thinking about the New Holland beer you get at the post-race party. And why I didn’t call this “Bri’s Jog Blog.” You think about a lot of things while running/nursing.
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