I’ve been really anxious all week. Surprise, surprise. It has put me in a place of deep reflection. Surprise, surprise.
I’m getting on an airplane tomorrow. By myself. To visit friends in Atlanta. For one night. I’ll be gone for 36 hours.
In case you’re wondering, I’ve been packing (thinking about packing and actually packing) for longer than 36 hours. I’ve also done some shopping. It’s going to be cold in Atlanta and Mama needed a new scarf. And a new sweater. And a new bag. (I had a 20% friends & family coupon at Bloomingdale’s. It would have been downright irresponsible not to take advantage of the savings.)
Back to the anxiety. I wake up every morning with butterflies in my stomach akin to what one must feel before participating in a Presidential debate or singing the national anthem at the Super Bowl. This excruciating feeling lasts all day and only subsides when I go to sleep with the help of a sleeping pill, which prevents anxiety-induced insomnia. (Did you read the NewYork Times article, “Sleep Medication: Mother’s New Little Helper“? I did, and you should, too.)
I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions this week to try to figure out why I’m so anxious:
Am I scared to fly? Kinda. I’m not a huge fan of flying.
Am I nervous about being away from my boys? This might sound surprising, but yes.
Am I anxious about spending time with friends I haven’t seen in awhile? Maybe.
Am I concerned that even though Mike will be fine with the kids and he’ll have help (thanks Aunt H, Grandma B and Grandpa T), the house will be a mess when I get home? Yup.
This is the question that worries me the most (yes, I have anxiety about my anxiety):
Am I nervous that the anxiety I have about one 36-hour trip has something to do with how sheltered my life has become since becoming a Mama, and especially since becoming a stay-at-home Mama? You betcha.
In my very first blog entry, I wrote about craving experiences outside of my cozy mommy bubble. I’m starting to wonder if my bubble has become too comfortable – so much so that outside experiences have become uncomfortable.
It’s just a theory. I guess I’ll see how I feel when I return. In the meantime, I’m trying to focus my energy on the upside of my 36-hour diaper-free adventure away from my brood, including reading a book on the plane, catching up with good friends, going to the bathroom by myself (and not in a park bathroom) and, if I’m lucky fortunate, getting rid of these pesky butterflies.
The Runaway Mama by Jen Gregory 