Cliche in How Cliche it is

I didn't realize, pre-kids, how easy it was to figure out who I was - or at least, the things I did that made me "Me". The lines were easily drawn. I worked out. I worked. I had a great relationship with my family. I had an active relationship with a substantial number of friends. Check. Check. Check. If it's a good idea to do, with data to back it up, it was easy to fit in and schedule my life around.

Toss a kid into that perfectly ordered life and whoosh! I've had redraw those perfectly ordered lines. Only this time, the barometers for success are constantly shifting. For example, Chris and I are "supposed" to have date night once per week; that's considered 'best practices' by every marriage book I've read. It's not so much the 'date nights' but the commitment to put each other, and our relationship, first.

But, when there's a baby that you've neglected/given to a caring, loving competent nanny to raise during the day, suddenly, going on a 'date night' isn't a slam dunk. Does the baby need us? We're adults. We can reason our way to a good relationship without a date night. Right? (No, really, can we? And how long can we if we keep skipping date night to stay home with the baby that may or may not even notice which caregiver he's with. Or, does he?)

This isn't anything new or anything that every single other new mother on the planet hasn't experienced. It's cliche in how cliche it is. I'm muddling through it, trying to figure out the trade offs and whether I should go jogging with the baby (for me) or sit at home and read and play blocks (for him). I'm beginning to suspect that no matter how much time and dedication I bring to the job of motherhood that it won't ever be enough. It doesn't mean that I'll quit trying (I'm nothing if not stubborn to a fault) but it does put a big question mark over the entire process of feeling angst, regret or fear. Those feelings don't have any place in parenting. Hopefully, when I get my new lines redrawn, there will be no room for them. I'm planning on those lines looking gloriously colored in all their convoluted twists and turns. Who needs straight lines anyways? Life is what happens in the knots.