Survive Being A Student Mom, It’s Worth It

I’m having a rough time these days.

It’s not even the lack of sleep, no – I try as hard as I can to go to bed at a decent time, knowing I have heck of a day tomorrow.

I’ve been a student for about 6 years now – yes, I’m one of those people who took a very long break. During this marvelous no-studying time, I did all kinds of things: I streamed competitive Hearthstone: Heroes of Warcraft on Twitch, I traveled, got married, pregnant, spawned a human and made a good, solid plan for the next few years to come.

Since that plan does include finishing university, I kind of dropped everything else I’ve been up to (apart from the baby, obviously) and started studying, knowing I only have 3 exams left until the end. Big ones, but the end is near, right?!

Let me tell you something. This life is not an easy life, and if you can choose your path, don’t go for this one. Don’t get me wrong – this is what I’ve chosen and entered knowingly. I wish I haven’t. I now wish I had listened to what the people were telling me and I wish I had made more sacrifices earlier to finish with this before the baby.

I didn’t, though. Is it worth debating and crying over? I don’t think so.

Instead, I’m on a road to my degree, with only one exam left to go through (woo-freaking-hoo!). Needless to say, I am not having a cheerful week. Not even a cheerful month – I just passed my second-to-last exam a few days ago and my tank is running on “empty”.

I need to keep going though. Only a little bit more.

My husband and I have made some sacrifices this month. We’re currently living some sort of twisted version of our lives where we don’t really see each other. It sucks.

Every day, I 9-to-5 with the baby. He comes home from work, takes over, I leave the house.

Where do you go every day?, you may ask.

I’ve returned to my real-student-life habit of studying at the university, in the actual study hall. Having someone to pull your socks while you’re sitting at home and trying to focus is no fun, I can tell you that. It’s not because he’s a burden to me; actually, I feel quite the opposite. When I’m at home, I close my books every time I get an opportunity for play time, cuddle time, or even a bath time, as an excuse for procrastination. So I had to break out of that habit.

These days, I’m stuck in the actual basement of our university – a small room full of tables, with sickly-yellow walls and not enough oxygen for all of us. Still, it’s better than nothing.

I stay there for 6 hours, every day, denying myself all the precious moments with my family, and feeling like I’m missing out. I’m sad and exhausted. The only reason I try so hard is because, if it all goes well, these are the last two weeks of my student life.

It’s no fun, still.

However, I’m finding it easier to focus right there, watching all the “actual students” wasting away their days, looking at their books for a few minutes and quickly giving up because life’s hard. Then they go for an hour long break, to have coffee, eat, make out, whatever it is that “real students” do.

They leave me to my thoughts. And I realize that I’m actually happy with where I’m at. I don’t waste my time because I don’t have time. These hours are all the studying hours I can get these days. And they’re so good and productive that when I try to do it at home now, it just doesn’t feel good enough.

I’m kind of excited though, the way I’ve never been before. Every page, every task feels like “I’m doing this for the last time”. It makes me push myself harder, do better, memorize quickly, understand what I’m doing.

I feel pretty invincible right now. Like there’s noting I can’t do now, to get this over with.

I’m in the zone.

Every hour that I spend away from my family now feels like it has a price, because it’s true.

I’m paying for that time with missing out on firsts that may happen, with being tired beyond belief in the morning, and with consistent guilt I tap into every time I close the door.

The last thing I always see before I close the door is my baby, looking at me leave. I kiss my husband goodbye, hug them both, and leave. To go to the sickly-yellow room with no oxygen and do math.

He may not understand I do this for him, yet he sees me leave him. Every time. It hurts me more than he’ll ever know.

If that’s not the strongest motivator to get this over with as soon as possible, I don’t know what possibly could be.

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