Boring Me

My life is boring because of T.

That was my thesis statement for the best part of 2018.

I’d get out of bed because she was threatening to walk off the mattress, turn on the heater, get water boiling, make breakfast, bathe and dress her, and all this before I had washed my face. Read to her a little before guiltily letting Youtube babysit her, and get some work done. Lunch with my mother because she makes my life easier. Coffee somewhere while I get more work done in the one hour I have away from her. Tv till dinner. Nothing much to tell k about my day except what we ate, where we went, how much work I cleared.

My life became boring because of T. 

Then one day it hit me. I was going about the Lunch part of the routine, inwardly grumbling that I was subject to my mother’s way of life as if I were a teenager, following her around after school. Nothing spectacular happened, but a ton of bricks aren’t spectacular until they hit you.

My life is boring, but I have T.

My life is boring, but I have my mother.

Can I blame a one-year-old for making me stop listening to new music, for closing down my home kitchen, for drying up my paints, for giving me no imagination to make appointments and suggest new places to explore, for basically making me the most boring version of myself since the day I was born?

So now life is the same, but entirely different. I take charge of my hobbies. I draw again. I cook again. I drag T along on adventures that tire us both out but happier for it. And when life just can’t be anything other than the usual routine because Life, I appreciate and enjoy the people that choose to spend their day with me, because they don’t have to. 

Ok little t. Let me show you just how exciting the world can be.