The wave of exhaustion is continuously crashing over my body.   Everyone said it would be coming, I just thought it would be sooner rather than later.   Of course, did I really think that if it came early, then it would leave early?  Obviously, if that was my rationale then I’m definitely a novice at this sport called “Mommyhood”.

Davey is 11 months old today.   This morning I find myself sitting back and reflecting not just on his 11 months on this earth, but also the over 9 months when he was in my womb and the new meaning of the word “exhausting”.

My pregnancy started out tiresome and physically draining, not to mention mentally.   It improved and by my second trimester, I no longer felt pregnant, with the exception of a growing belly.   By the final few weeks of my pregnancy, I was back to being fatigued.   I couldn’t sleep.  I couldn’t get comfortable.  I couldn’t move.

When Davey arrived, it was a bit of like walking through a blur the first week since my husband and I were operating on very few hours of sleep.   We were so exhausted that we couldn’t sleep something I never thought possible.

As the months went by, Davey began sleeping through the night, taking naps during the day and allowing my husband and me to get back on a semi-routine.   Actually, we created a new routine.

My days as a stay-at-home mom were filled with new adventures and excitements, but also regular chores like cleaning the house, doing the laundry and dishes, and mowing the lawn.   During those initial days of being at home, life was pretty easy for the most part and I attribute that to the fact that my son was immobile.   And as ashamed as I am to admit it, I really really miss those days!

Davey started taking his first steps at 9 months.   He was crawling around 6 months.   The crawling wasn’t quite so difficult because even at that stage I could place him in his jumperoo or his pack and play.   I could keep him contained.   Now that he’s walking, I’ve had to borrow additional baby gates, put locks on cabinets and pretty much reside myself to the fact that I can no longer accomplish ANYTHING while he’s awake.

My house is disaster central from 7 am until about 9 pm.   I don’t bother trying to clean up after him.  He just pulls it all back out again.   I can’t do anything in the kitchen because he sneaks up behind me and if I’m not careful, I’ve tripped over him.   We have a baby gate at the top of the stairs, so that I can at least let him run around upstairs while I’m taking a shower or cleaning.   I keep baby gates up at the two kitchen entrances so I can keep him quarantined into the family room and kitchen.

These days, he’s climbing on the furniture, climbing on the fireplace, trying to climb into the dog’s crate, pulling the tablecloth on the table.   He’s wearing me out!    I’ve almost decided I don’t need to run anymore to lose weight.   Just chasing after my son will do it.

Last week at the beach, my husband suggested I bring his book down onto the beach.  He would read it while we were sitting there.   I nearly choked as I tried to stifle a laugh.   Did he really think there was going to be relaxation with an 11 month old at the beach?   Surely, he’d lost his mind.   He quickly found out that bringing the book was a futile effort.   For 2 hours, our son walked all over the beach, into the water and back again, ran, tripped, face planted into the sand, threw sand, splashed water, met new people, and pretty much refused anything that was related to “relaxing”.    Relax is not a part of Davey’s vernacular.   And what a shame that is.

But in the 11 months that Davey has been on this earth, if diminished relaxation is the side effect to being a parent, then it’s the best side-effect this mama’s ever had.