I have a confession to make.
On Sunday, when I wrote my celebratory marathon post, I was in a bad mood. I had to force myself to write it and force myself to sound excited. I spent the whole day and most of the day before (while spending 8+ hours in a car with my two children and two very sore legs) brooding. Thinking how unfair it was that I couldn't just lay on the couch and relive my marathon glory. Desperately wanting my children to understand I couldn't search under the couch for wayward golf balls because I might never get up again. Disliking myself for believing I needed to do laundry when the laundry room is down a long, steep flight of stairs.
Motherhood is a 24/7 job. Even when I have a legitimate reason to be lazy, I feel this overwhelming need to pick up toys, clean food up off the floor, and do laundry. Don't get me wrong, I am not a candidate for Mother of the Year. Even when my muscles don't feel like they've been dragged through a cheese grater, I struggle with impatience. It wasn't so much that I was annoyed with my family, it was more then I was annoyed with myself for not taking a break. Did the laundry need to get done the day after I ran a marathon? No, it could have waited until Monday when I could go downstairs (albeit sideways) and not wince in pain with every step.
I had fallen prey to the ridiculous notion that I need to sacrifice myself for the sake of my family. That everyone else is more important then me. That couldn't be farther from the truth. My family needs me but they also need me to be healthy, happy, and sane. Thankfully, I woke up yesterday morning with a renewed spirit and the ability to bend. I spent time with my son picking out our favorite medals. I read stories with my daughter and 2 "adopted" daughters. I took a nap. I had a chocolate chip frappe. I looked in the mirror and exclaimed "I ran a 4:27 marathon!"
I didn't need to fake that excitement.