Confessions of a Super Tired, Extraordinarily Cranky, Over-Worked Mom
Is it bad that my daughter, this very instant, is army crawling at my feet with a rawhide dog bone in her hand. In a moment she'll put it in her mouth for a good ole chew. And, I'm considering not doing a thing about it. I mean, if it's okay for a dog with a mouthful of teeth to gnaw it to oblivion--then a 6 1/2 month old that is only geared to gum it into that soft goo won't hurt her right?
If I wasn't so exhausted, I would've taken it away (the bone) already. Or at the very least scanned the floor for the dog and 6-year-old toys before putting her down. But today--this last month--has been a blur. Work, breastfeeding, nuking chicken nuggets and pizza, conference calls, diaper changes, whining about not being able to play the Wii, single-parenting it while The Husband has other commitments, late nights writing, on-site meetings, taxes of the income and property variety, and waking all hours of the night with The Baby Who Will Not Sleep--I'm a bit on the exhausted side.
I'm anxious and unruly on my best days. Brain spinning with a to do list longer than the hours available but yet unable to focus on one. And I know it's bad when my fitful dreams are of work projects and house chores, instead of pink fairies, unicorns, and the awesome handbags I discovered last week online. I mean, who dreams about work and then admits it? It's the lamest confession I've made to date, but at least it's honest. And shows you how far in the gutter things have gotten. And out of control isn't exaggerating the obvious.
This past weekend I took a shower. Yes, can you believe it? I held the baby at arms length to The Husband and nodded toward The Kiddo, "Taking a much needed shower. Don't wait for me." Meaning: If you come in and bother me while the water is still hot and pounding on my sore arms and back, I might kill you. And get off for reasons of insanity. Don't even try it. The Husband knows the tone, and took the time to lock the bathroom door on his way out so that I would not be disturbed for a glass of red Gatorade. Or the screeching of The Peanut. I needed at the very least a shower of alone time. And I got it. It was long. Hot. Steamy. And full of tears. I'd realized I spent the first 3 minutes listing off the to-do list of my Saturday.
Groceries. Dishes. Laundry. Pick up Dry Cleaning. If the baby took a nap, I wanted to finish the work project. Get to that book I needed to read. Write the review... it went on and on and on. By minute four, the tears stared. What the hell am I doing? To-Do lists on a Saturday? Pre-child these were days of sleeping in til the afternoon, cold pizza, TNT movies, and hell, nothing. Here, I was cramming more than a normal days work of work into a few hours. And that included the day job. The one I am salaried to work in 40 hours.
It was an awful moment. Tears stinging my eyes. Hot water pounding on my shoulders. My arms weary from holding and extra-clingy 6-month-old, and throat scratchy from the cold I wasn't admitting was looming on the side. All because my life is a whirlwind. I wish I could say that the shower enlightened me in some way. But the water turned to the half cold state, and the steam wasn't pouring over the shower stall anymore and I was pruning into something that was beginning to look like my grandmother's hands. Which means, bluntly, I had to get out and face my family. The screeching baby that needed to be nursed, the son waiting for pancakes, and my husband who in a whole hour and a half already had a sore back from bouncing the baby around.
The minute my husband and I consented to have sex without prevention--we agreed to have children. And I love every ounce of them. It's all the other stuff I am having a hard time juggling right now. Who needs to worry about child care coinciding with work schedules, soccer practice, summer camp, and project schedules? And don't forget about paying bills, cleaning the house, taking showers, and eating. Or sleeping. It is all a harried mess.
Pre-child life is long gone, but I dream fondly of those moments of what was then called busy-ness. Hell, if I had one or two after work engagements and a birthday party over the weekend, it felt like craziness. But add in two children--and it's a whole new ball game. One that entails balancing what will drive you crazy first. Right now the choice is: a child that will start screaming if you pick her up or one that will happily chew on a dog bone for a few minutes while you finish the last e-mail of the day. And today, that choice is a damn hard one to make.
If I wasn't so exhausted, I would've taken it away (the bone) already. Or at the very least scanned the floor for the dog and 6-year-old toys before putting her down. But today--this last month--has been a blur. Work, breastfeeding, nuking chicken nuggets and pizza, conference calls, diaper changes, whining about not being able to play the Wii, single-parenting it while The Husband has other commitments, late nights writing, on-site meetings, taxes of the income and property variety, and waking all hours of the night with The Baby Who Will Not Sleep--I'm a bit on the exhausted side.
I'm anxious and unruly on my best days. Brain spinning with a to do list longer than the hours available but yet unable to focus on one. And I know it's bad when my fitful dreams are of work projects and house chores, instead of pink fairies, unicorns, and the awesome handbags I discovered last week online. I mean, who dreams about work and then admits it? It's the lamest confession I've made to date, but at least it's honest. And shows you how far in the gutter things have gotten. And out of control isn't exaggerating the obvious.
This past weekend I took a shower. Yes, can you believe it? I held the baby at arms length to The Husband and nodded toward The Kiddo, "Taking a much needed shower. Don't wait for me." Meaning: If you come in and bother me while the water is still hot and pounding on my sore arms and back, I might kill you. And get off for reasons of insanity. Don't even try it. The Husband knows the tone, and took the time to lock the bathroom door on his way out so that I would not be disturbed for a glass of red Gatorade. Or the screeching of The Peanut. I needed at the very least a shower of alone time. And I got it. It was long. Hot. Steamy. And full of tears. I'd realized I spent the first 3 minutes listing off the to-do list of my Saturday.
Groceries. Dishes. Laundry. Pick up Dry Cleaning. If the baby took a nap, I wanted to finish the work project. Get to that book I needed to read. Write the review... it went on and on and on. By minute four, the tears stared. What the hell am I doing? To-Do lists on a Saturday? Pre-child these were days of sleeping in til the afternoon, cold pizza, TNT movies, and hell, nothing. Here, I was cramming more than a normal days work of work into a few hours. And that included the day job. The one I am salaried to work in 40 hours.
It was an awful moment. Tears stinging my eyes. Hot water pounding on my shoulders. My arms weary from holding and extra-clingy 6-month-old, and throat scratchy from the cold I wasn't admitting was looming on the side. All because my life is a whirlwind. I wish I could say that the shower enlightened me in some way. But the water turned to the half cold state, and the steam wasn't pouring over the shower stall anymore and I was pruning into something that was beginning to look like my grandmother's hands. Which means, bluntly, I had to get out and face my family. The screeching baby that needed to be nursed, the son waiting for pancakes, and my husband who in a whole hour and a half already had a sore back from bouncing the baby around.
The minute my husband and I consented to have sex without prevention--we agreed to have children. And I love every ounce of them. It's all the other stuff I am having a hard time juggling right now. Who needs to worry about child care coinciding with work schedules, soccer practice, summer camp, and project schedules? And don't forget about paying bills, cleaning the house, taking showers, and eating. Or sleeping. It is all a harried mess.
Pre-child life is long gone, but I dream fondly of those moments of what was then called busy-ness. Hell, if I had one or two after work engagements and a birthday party over the weekend, it felt like craziness. But add in two children--and it's a whole new ball game. One that entails balancing what will drive you crazy first. Right now the choice is: a child that will start screaming if you pick her up or one that will happily chew on a dog bone for a few minutes while you finish the last e-mail of the day. And today, that choice is a damn hard one to make.
Labels: humor, life, me, motherhood, parenting, slice of life story challenge, working
A Made Bed Really Makes the Home
As of late, my main goal for the day, is to make the bed. Or at least make it looks less slept in, pull the covers and duvet up to pillow level, and toss the 3 layers of pillows nicely near the head of the bed.
This bed-making habit, well it really isn't one. Not one I did pre-kid two anyway. And I am not quite sure why I am making the effort now. I'm beyond the Super Mom complex. I had that for the first year of The Kiddo's life. You know what I am talking about--the simple idea that I could do it all. Keeping house, wifely duties, working full time, and parenting spectacularly... all while, doing the other stuff to perfection.
You can stop laughing now. I know how idiotic it sounds. And how impossible as well. But being the first child of a perfectionist type mother, as well as a very determined (and stubborn) personality. Well, I just thought I could do it all. And love it all. Needless to say, I burned out so quickly, I might as well have just fallen apart in the first week instead. It would have saved me a lot of sleep, anxiety, and years of my life.
This time around, hell, I just want to make sure that I feel relaxed, calm, and well adjusted to parenting two by the time I go back to work. And that means taking 3 months off instead of 6 weeks like last time around. It also means completely trusting my instincts as a parent--hell, I was able to do it the first time out of the gate and he's turned out okay so far for being 4 years old. And lastly, I just want to let the stress go. The stress of juggling work, family, and house stuff. Impossible, I know, but I am forcing myself to let it go. For 3 months.
Back to the bed-making obsession. That particular chose belongs in the house category. And here I am, making it happen every day. Even when The Husband is around (and could do it). And even when I know damn well not another soul in the house is going to see it but me.
Does it stem from the whole, get dressed every day (to say, prepare for the day to begin) even when you know you aren't going out? Or maybe from the Hey, I Am Home Anyway mentality? I am not so sure. The more I type this, I think it is coming from the I Can't Stand To Look In the Room with the Bed Unmade scenario. Which means I have utterly lost my mind at home, I've become completely domesticated, or I am just dying for some activity in this house (as in a visitor). Maybe it is all of the above.
This bed-making habit, well it really isn't one. Not one I did pre-kid two anyway. And I am not quite sure why I am making the effort now. I'm beyond the Super Mom complex. I had that for the first year of The Kiddo's life. You know what I am talking about--the simple idea that I could do it all. Keeping house, wifely duties, working full time, and parenting spectacularly... all while, doing the other stuff to perfection.
You can stop laughing now. I know how idiotic it sounds. And how impossible as well. But being the first child of a perfectionist type mother, as well as a very determined (and stubborn) personality. Well, I just thought I could do it all. And love it all. Needless to say, I burned out so quickly, I might as well have just fallen apart in the first week instead. It would have saved me a lot of sleep, anxiety, and years of my life.
This time around, hell, I just want to make sure that I feel relaxed, calm, and well adjusted to parenting two by the time I go back to work. And that means taking 3 months off instead of 6 weeks like last time around. It also means completely trusting my instincts as a parent--hell, I was able to do it the first time out of the gate and he's turned out okay so far for being 4 years old. And lastly, I just want to let the stress go. The stress of juggling work, family, and house stuff. Impossible, I know, but I am forcing myself to let it go. For 3 months.
Back to the bed-making obsession. That particular chose belongs in the house category. And here I am, making it happen every day. Even when The Husband is around (and could do it). And even when I know damn well not another soul in the house is going to see it but me.
Does it stem from the whole, get dressed every day (to say, prepare for the day to begin) even when you know you aren't going out? Or maybe from the Hey, I Am Home Anyway mentality? I am not so sure. The more I type this, I think it is coming from the I Can't Stand To Look In the Room with the Bed Unmade scenario. Which means I have utterly lost my mind at home, I've become completely domesticated, or I am just dying for some activity in this house (as in a visitor). Maybe it is all of the above.
