Being Like Me

As I'm figuring out how to be myself again, and how to change my personality, I find I've been drawn to a couple of blogs.  Here, meet them!

Lindsay

Nicole

Shannan

When I first realized that reading their blogs relaxed me, I thought, "I should be more like them!"  But no.  That's not the answer.  Trying to make myself like someone else is a fine idea [hear me out here] if that person is done figuring things out.  Here's a hint: no one is done figuring themselves out.  Lindsay?  I haven't asked her, but I know that she's still figuring out this whole "mama" thing.  Nicole, too.  Heck, I'll bet my gal Shan would admit to still figuring out how to be a parent, and she's got some not-so-littles.  

Those sweet gals, they're also still figuring out how to be wives, how to be friends, how to keep the dirty dishes out of their sinks.  Same as you (and I!), they're still trying to find that elusive rhythm to their days.  And I realized, that's what I was drawn to.  The stories they tell, their days, they seem to have a sweet, relaxed cadence that draws me in.  That type-A personality of mine makes me want to track these ladies down, find out exactly what they do and why, and then replicate it in my life.  I'm telling you, its a sickness.  

I've learned, though, that even if I did all of those weird, sick, semi-stalker-ish things, I wouldn't have what I'm looking for.  Their rhythm, the cadence of their days, it wouldn't fit me right.  It'd feel choppy, a little off-pitch, and a half-beat behind.  I need my own.  I need to find the beat that lets my heart settle down, that lets peace seep into the corners of our home and set all of our days to music.  

Let's Chill

I've been a bit... off, I suppose you could say, since #RG showed up.  Heck, since she became an idea about 1 year ago, she's left me a little unbalanced.  

We've graduated from the woombie to sleeping with arms out.
She likes being free.
She's chill like that.

Pretty sure that's how this whole "becoming a parent" thing rolls.

Part of my trouble is my personality.  I like patterns.  I like predictable.  I have big expectations, and when I make all of the right moves, I expect the expected outcomes.  All of these things are a problem with la bebe. She's a wild card, one that can't be figured out since she doesn't even know herself.  This is hard on me.

Since I prefer to survive, even try to thrive, in this new environment, I've decided to change my personality.  I've already changed my love language.  I even switched from an backwards-introvert to a social-introvert in 8th grade, because I could.  Boom.

Now, its time to change my personality.  I'm big on type-A around here: rigid, time-management obsessed, multi-tasking high-achiever focused on deadlines and a bit short-fused when routine is disrupted.  Handsome, he's type-B all the way: lower stress level, steady, not given to fits of rage/excitement/sadness/anything.  Goes with the flow.  That's who I want to be.  I wanna roll wit' it.  

I'm not bent this way.  I'm not used to not being worried with schedules.  Heck, I've got an app on my phone that draws charts depending on when #RG sleeps & wakes, trying to assess patterns.  [spoiler alert: there is no pattern]  I'm not exactly sure what this looks like.  Since my baby daddy possesses several characteristics that I want to also possess, I think I'll try to do a bit what he does.  If neither of us care about schedules and routine, we'll probably fall apart entirely when it comes to showing up places; I'm not going off of the B-deep-end.  

But I am gonna chill.  

Here's to being chill.

<3 M.

I'm a Social Introvert

I've never taken one of those personality tests.  They're way  too confusing for me.  I find myself either wanting to choose more than one answer or completely unable to choose any.  I just... I don't fit.  I wrote something similar to this a looong time ago.  So long ago that I'm feeling unequal to the task of digging through the archives to link to it here, like a good blogger would do.

I do post fabulous pictures, like a good blogger would do.
So perhaps I'm a half-way good blogger.
I wonder if she'll be an innie or an exie...

Anyhow, personality test or no, I've figured it out.  I'm a social introvert.  I don't know if that's a thing that was a thing before I wrote it, but it is what I am.  Social, because I do like people.  I don't hate being around  people, I like to meet new ones, and friendly strangers pretty much make my day.  Seriously, there are few things that make my day quicker.

BUT.  But.  I need alone time.  I don't need friendly strangers, much as I enjoy them.  I don't need parties or groups or titillating conversation.  I didn't even fully realize how much I crave alone-ness before today, how much I need it.  Thanks to my fantastic husband, it happened today.  I. Was. Alone.  And my soul rejoiced.

Personality Conflict

So I *ran* in a Mud Run yesterday.  And my use of the word *ran* is relative.  Most of the time, we just moved our arms real fast and walked with our feet, yelling back at the Marines who yelled at us, "Look! My arms are moving so fast!  I'm so fast at running! Look at me go!"  And then they would yell again "You MALL WALKERS!  Move your feet!  Get out of my mud! What are you doing still in my mud!?"  And then we laughed and moved as slow as we pleased.

Before.
As in, before we were forever changed by the mud.
Before we knew what it was to be truly filthy.
Before we went to where there is no coming back from.

Obviously, this is the after photo.
My contact was rolled up in my brain at this point.
Our socks will never be pink & white ever again.
Each of us is bleeding at the knees here.

Apparently, I have a problem with being told what to do.  The weird part is, I'm a great listener.  Just ask my Moms.  She said I was (and I quote) "a joy to raise" (endquote).  Tell me what to do, and I do it.  Its even been at the point where I'm trying to stay on a healthy eating kick, and I ask Handsome "Tell me not to eat these chips" and then he says "Don't eat those chips" and then I don't.  Because I'm a good listener.  

Sometimes.