I was the most attentive new mom in the history of new moms. I nursed that sweet little Luke around the clock, read every parenting book I could get my hands on. Everything I did was for him. That little one was my life. When his little brother joined us I poured just as much love into Noah. I loved those boys to distraction but I felt a little lost myself. I started sinking into postpartum depression, tired all the time and the world just seemed all grey, monochrome, and flat.  

A friend of mine suggested that we start jogging together. At the urging of my husband and the promise of his support I started to jog two mornings a week. I started having adult conversations. My body started to feel a little bit more like it was mine again. I started to find myself one workout at a time. I also started to find solutions to the two year old problems in my house. I was more available to my husband. I look back and realize that what was missing from those early years was the practice of taking care of myself. I took care of the boys but I didn’t take care of me. I also learned that taking care of me comes first. It’s my job to take care of me and then I’ll have what I need to take care of them. 

I’m now three more boys and several more years into this parenting gig. As I type I’ve locked myself in the guest room to work and the boys, home on summer vacation, know that mom is at work and that they need to take care of each other. I can hear a few yells, some messes being made and some unhappy sounds. And it’s fine. They will figure it out and be extra grateful when I do make it upstairs. More importantly, I will be better equipped to help them, love them and be available to them. I will have taken care of me, filled my bucket so that I have something to offer them. 

In those early years I learned that exercise was what I needed to feel like myself. I’ve also learned that pursuing my own interests makes me a more whole person.