fun with kids Archives – Leap of Faye

Today’s guest post and pictures are from Sabrina Carlson, mama and blogger at Mama Wild and Free.

I wasn’t so sure I wanted to become a parent. I’m a fiercely independent person. I love my alone time. I love climbing mountains, riding my bicycle through the forest, traveling to new places, running wild and free. Parenthood, I was sure, would bring all of that to an abrupt halt.

But here is what I’ve learned now three years into this parenting journey. Being a parent does not mean an end to your fun or adventure. In fact, I’m finding that the constraints of motherhood are actually driving me to explore, adventure, and travel MORE. Yes…that’s right. MORE.

Let me explain. Before you have a tiny person who depends on you for their every need, you think you are busy. Like…”OMG I’m sooooo busy” kinda busy. I allowed myself to get sucked into workaholic perfectionism constantly. 60 hour weeks were the norm. I said yes to everything, whether or not it was the very best use of my time or even something I wanted to do. I participated in a million activities from gardening, to the local running club track workouts, to cooking gourmet meals nightly, cleaning my house obsessively. When I could find some spare time I rode my mountain bike, though not as often as I wished I did, ran trail races, and occasionally traveled outside the US. Then, every once in a great while, I might collapse into bed for three days with exhaustion and try to recover.

As a mom, I have zero time in my schedule for anything that doesn’t serve a high level purpose in my life, family, or community. I don’t have space in my reality for the self congratulatory habit of manufacturing panic about artificially inflated to do lists, just so that I can base my self worth on how much I checked off said list.

After a rough start in this parenting thing I figured out I have two choices. I could continue to allow everyone and everything else to dictate my schedule and priorities while I try to cram the new, rather time consumptive, responsibility of parenting on top of it all and feel overwhelmed, insufficient, and exhausted with zero time or energy left to take care of myself. OR I could get ruthless and unapologetic. I could weed out everything that isn’t 100% essential. Learn to say no (to myself sometimes more than anyone else), and not need to explain or justify it. Just…no.

Now that I have peeled back the layers of all the extra burdens I unnecessarily placed on myself I’m less stressed, less frantic, and not only have time and patience for my family, I have more time for my own hobbies and interests than ever before. I consistently ride my mountain bike at least twice a week now. I hadn’t been able to say that since the dirt bag days of my early 20’s. I plan long weekends alone, or with a friend, to do something epic at least every 3 months, and my family and I adventure together all the time. I can’t say I was really that consistent before.

Why? Why was I LESS consistent putting adventures on the calendar before the constraints of parenthood!? It seems a little nuts really. I think because I “could do that anytime” I allowed myself to get sucked into whatever story I was spinning in my head about what was more important in that moment. No more. I don’t have the luxury of “going with the flow” these days. So I plan it and I ALWAYS make it happen. If I have time carved out to pursue my passions I will never “just not feel like it today”. Ever.

The result? I play, adventure, and travel MORE now than I did before I had my son.

I’m not going to lie to you. Figuring out HOW to make this work has taken time, intense self reflection (and some therapy) and is always evolving. This doesn’t happen right away with a new baby, and it shouldn’t. That time is unique and reserved for recovery and rest. The first year, even two, are pretty tough. A mama’s body goes through a LOT to make and birth a new person. The notion that “It’s natural so it’s no big deal” is horse manure. Lions eating gazelle on the African Savannah is natural too. That doesn’t mean it was a good day for the gazelle. The sleepless nights and being needed constantly (especially if you breastfeed) are very real, and make recovery long and difficult.

But hang on, Mama. You WILL recover. You child will sleep eventually. AND..this is the best part…you WILL find your groove and a rhythm that works for you. Yes, you will need to figure your child into any plans you make for adventure, be it a run in the woods after work or a trip across the globe. But that doesn’t mean those plans have to stop. In fact, they just might get better and happen more often.

Sabrina Carlson is a mama on a mission to tell postpartum depression where to shove it while living a life of adventure, travel, joy, and meaning as a parent, and hoping to inspire other moms that they can too. She blogs at Mama Wild and Free, can be found posting pictures of her wild and wonderful life on Instagram , and is currently learning that Pinterest is a great tool for adventure planning and vision boarding, and isn’t just for overly complicated craft projects.

I pretty much had it all together before I became a parent. The career, the social life, the travel and experiences. Everything was going along swimmingly. I knew who I was and what to expect.

And then my world was rocked.

Not once, not twice, but three times over the course of four years. By three little men who demanded my complete attention. My complete everything, really.

And as the memories of hip restaurants and exotic travel slowly dissipated into the background of my new sleep-deprived life, I found myself doing things my pre-kid self could have never imagined.

I suck boogers out of little noses.

Literally. With my mouth. Fortunately there is an apparatus that allows me to do so without actually ingesting said boogers (thank you, Nosefrida) but it is still disgusting. Yet necessary, as I’ve quickly learned that regular old nasal aspirators simply can’t suck out the same volume of snot as my mouth can.

I sniff butts for bowel movements.

Ah yes, I’m a pro at the old one-handed-butt-lift-and-sniff maneuver. It’s simply the only way to know with certainty whether a diaper needs to be changed. And in order to avoid a false alarm, I’ve mastered the art of discerning between the scent of an actual crap or a simple fart.

I watch Caillou.

Don’t judge me. You would too if it was a choice between that and a symphony of blaring musical toys and fights over who gets to turn off the bathroom faucet.

I clean fecal matter off of everything.

I used to think that picking up after the dog was gross. Now I can clean up human poop smeared all over little people and their belongings without a flinch. Bonus points for having had the conversation with an on-call pediatrician about how to handle a child who has possibly swallowed poop (and learning that it apparently happens “all the time”).

I go to sleep by 9pm.

Okay, 8:30pm. Maybe sooner if I’m lucky. Pretty much moments after I get the kids tucked in. Never mind that this would have formerly been the time of our dinner reservations, hours before we began getting ready to go out for the night.

Sucking boogers out of small noses is just one thing I never thought I would do - until I had kids Share on X

I lose my shit.

I used to be so cool. If I didn’t agree with something, I could easily let it go. But kids have a way of unraveling your very last nerve. I ask them nicely. They ignore me. I ask them more firmly. They continue. Then before you know it I’ve become a screaming shrew with a bulging forehead vein.

I scope out the neighborhood for cool parks.

And by cool, I mean parks that are fully enclosed with latching gates. With minimal concrete and maximum green space. And adequate shade.

I whip out my boobs anywhere and everywhere.

I offer them up willingly while cooing, “are you hungry?” Enduring tugs and bites on my calloused nipples. Wearing shirts and bras with hidden holes and stretchy panels for easy access. What about modesty, you say? Out the window from the moment I delivered my first child.

I implore people not to lick doorknobs.

Or their shoes. Or the Target cart. Or their brother’s foot. As I obsessively slather them in hand sanitizer in a futile attempt to prevent illness.

I drive a minivan.

I used to work for automotive companies. Which means that I was able to lease a custom ordered brand shiny new vehicle every year. And never once did I opt for a minivan. Not once did I even CONSIDER a minivan. But now it’s my vehicle of choice. The only metal box that can fit my entire brood and all their stuff. And, yes, I’ve become the mom who waxes poetic about the many practical features of her minivan to all her friends.

I go to chain restaurants.

The places I would turn my nose up at in the past have now become our family hangouts. Kids menus? Cheap alcohol? Yes, please! If I drink enough I can almost imagine that my fried fish taco is a seared ahi tuna steak. And that the kids are eating organic free-range chicken breasts instead of heavily battered chicken fingers.

I allow myself to be mauled.

By little people climbing all over me. Grabbing, hanging, and hugging. Every day. Tugging at my clothes and clinging to my leg. Kicking me in the night. Sweaty hands cupping my face. Slobbery kisses. While I sit, sometimes patiently and sometimes not, trying to embrace the violent onslaught of affection that will be gone before I know it.

Because it truly is fleeting. I do recognize this and am trying to soak it all in.

Even as I shout at someone to stop jumping on the bed for the 149^th time.

Parenting is NOT a Death Sentence for Fun (Guest Post)

Things I Never Thought I Would Do Until I Became a Parent