Some days. Some DAYS. SOMEDAYS I WANT TO SCREAM.
And shout and beat my fists against the wall. I want to run. Literally. I used to run; in high (and middle) school. It was the most beautiful thing ever. Not me running (lol), but the feeling. It was pure therapy. The relaxing feel of the wind; seeing new things pass by; hills, curves, corners. The rush of catching another runner. Pacing, closing in, and pulling ahead.
I need that. Especially at times like this. My 4 year old has learned the fine art of nagging, my 2 year old is, well, what everyone expects a 2 year old to be. Temper driven, grumpy, independent at all the wrong times, bullheaded, whiny… and completely sweet, bewitching & snuggly just when you’re about to check yourself into the nearest mental hospital.
And then there’s the baby. 5 1/2 months old, and learning to do his first sign (nurse/milk), within days of crawling, having a growth spurt, getting ready to start solids, and beyond that, the dark possibility of him having complications from his kidney reflux. Or from the medication he’s on for a year. So now he is waking up every 20 minutes to hour until I go in and just stay in there. And he doesn’t go to sleep until after 10 at night — even when he skips his evening nap. I have no time.
I could go into all the pathetic bits of time I do get; like his 1/2 hour naps — eat, shower, clean, take a computer/knitting break, pay attention to the other two so they’ll stop fighting? Pick one; two if you’re feeling positive.
And I’ve tried the mother’s helper; and she does help. She makes the boys happy, so I don’t have to feel like such a terrible person for ignoring them while laying with the baby so he’ll sleep for longer than 1/2 hour for a nap. It was too much for me to dream that she (or someone else) could keep all 3 of them busy — I can’t even do that for long. And he’s prematurely entered the stranger/anybody-but-mommy anxiety phase. Fantastic.
I know the first year or so is hard, I do. And I know I go a bit crazy during it — I did with the other two, too. Especially Ian — he woke up every 5-15 minutes without me, until he would finally go 2 hours or so. Until 9 months when he suddenly went 3 hours, then another 3, etc.
Ugh. I just needed to get that out. If you are a SAHM, you understand. It makes you a little crazy. You live in an emotional state all the time. You’re taking care of your very heart’s blood. Your babies. Detachment is a joke. These are your children. Your children. This isn’t an experiment where you can try out things to see if they work flippantly, with an “oh well,” if it goes wrong.
That paralyzes me. The chance of doing something wrong. Half the time I do get a 1/2 hour break, I waste it wandering around trying to figure out what I should be spending my time doing. Which thing is most important. And then, with one irritated squeal, my time is over. And I’m angry. Then I often compound it by chastising the boys because it’s their fault the baby woke up. How’s that for inspiration for the mother of the year award?
And there’s the baby. At least I did something with my time, this time. And maybe I feel a little bit better.