Today I turned twenty-seven. It's not a milestone year by any means, and though my boys were sweet enough to bring me Starbucks and flowers, it isn't much different than a normal day. I still changed diapers. I still wiped noses. I still comforted a crying baby.
These are the little things my life is made of. This is what I do. And it's occurred to me, over the past few days, that somewhere over the past few years, I've kind of lost myself in the little things that come with being a parent. I can define my role as a wife, as a mother, and the things that come with those roles, but I've lost me.
I've let myself get lazy and not followed any sort of news lately. I've wasted time being stuck on level 65 of Candy Crush on my phone rather than read books. I've lost my motivation for learning, for doing, for trying new things. And this year, I want to get that back.
It won't always be easy. But I've started. I downloaded some news apps on my phone so I can at least skim the headlines in between games. I've got a whole bunch of books on my Kindle, and I browsed at the used bookstore yesterday looking for a new title or two. I want to be a good wife, a good mother, yes. But I'd like to be a little bit more myself too.
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