girlfiend

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La la Loush left a comment on my housewife’s lament post that pretty much summed everything up.  You can read the whole comment in its entirety here, but the part that got me was this: People, mostly men will try to find solutions for you because that’s what they think you want. You know there isn’t much of a solution, but I sympathise and know what you are going through.

After reading my post Boyfiend was pretty upset. Despite the fact that I tried to make it clear in the post that Boyfiend was not to blame for how disconnected I felt, he took the post personally and offered solutions. There are no solutions. I have been breastfeeding and/or pregnant for four years and mothering full time. My interactions with the adult world are pretty limited. It is what it is. He can help with the kids and give me time to myself (which he’s done quite generously this past week) but it still doesn’t make the situation different.

This weekend we went to my mom’s house at the beach. It is never restful or relaxing for me to be at her house, but Boyfiend has a great time there,  the Fiendling loves it, and I always enjoy the time spent on the beach. My mother wants to be helpful, but she always fall short. She wants to give me a break but she doesn’t know how and usually ends up creating more work for me. And the insults, my god, the barrage of insults. They never end.

The first evening wasn’t too bad. But sometime in the middle of the night the baby woke up coughing. And it wasn’t just a normal baby cough it was the bark of a seal. Each cough made him cry and the more he cried the louder the coughs became. He was wheezing and crying and barking and clutching his throat and shoving his fingers in his mouth and distressed and it was awful. I suspected he had Croup and went down to use my mother’s computer to comfirm.

She was passed out on the couch with her bitey little dog with the TV on volume 7000. It was deafening, but I was afraid to turn it down for fear she’d wake up and I’d have to involve her. Google told me I was right and I went back upstairs prepared to spend the rest of the night in a steamy shower. But B had T asleep on his chest when I returned and the rest of the night was bad, but not as bad as I was expecting. T woke coughing and crying regularly throughout the night, but each time he was easily settled.

The next morning my mother watched the kids so B and I could sleep in a little. I came down around 9 and immediately called our pediatrician’s office. I left a message with the on-call operator. In the interim T was ready for a nap and F was ready for the beach so I prepared both of the kids and got our stuff ready our walk to the beach. A trip across the street to my mom’s neighbor’s house to use a pump for the stroller tires was necessary and through a series of events that Mix jokes sounded like a drug deal, later that afternoon we ended up getting the baby a prescription for steroids from my mom’s neighbor’s girlfriend’s cousin’s husband rather than taking him to the city to our pediatrician or to the emergency room. The neighbor’s girlfriend’s cousin’s husband is an ER doctor with three kids of his own. He told us that the steroids should help the cough but that it might get worse before it gets better and that we should expect a high fever.

After helping us with our sick baby the neighbor and his girlfriend  invited us over for dinner that night. After the kids were in bed we went across the street to join them and their other guests. It was nice to be in adult company enjoying adult beverages without small children running or crawling about, but I wasn’t completely there. I knew that across the street my baby was sleeping, but he probably wouldn’t be sleeping for long. I knew that I would have another night of interrupted sleep and that it might be worse than the night before.

The reason for the story is that it’s yet another example of me not getting a break. Even though in theory I had a break while my mom was at the house with two sleeping children so B and I could have drinks with friends, I couldn’t fully engage. I was on edge, waiting for the phone call that the baby was awake. I was on edge, anticipating the restless night ahead. My time, even when I have it, isn’t really my own.

It is what it is and I don’t expect or want anything different. I am completely wrapped up in my children and right now that’s the way it has to be. They are little. They need me. They need us.  I don’t want a different life than the one I have. I don’t need solutions. There are no solutions. I’m sad right now, overwhelmed by motherhood and the weight of staying home with two small children. I love my children and I enjoy my children.  But  children get sick and need attention. They pull and tug at me and cry for things they want. They need to be occupied and active and sometimes need my undivided attention. They don’t always listen and they don’t always sleep. When it was a two year old and a baby it was easier. But my baby isn’t  a baby anymore. He’s become a tiny little person with wants and needs and preferences. Newborns are easy. One year olds are work. This stage is more difficult than the last and it can be suffocating sometimes.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I am depressed. I don’t know if it will stick for a while or if it’s just a few weeks of the blues, but my guess is that it will pass. I have  just had several shitty, shitty weeks in a row. It would make you depressed too.

But this makes me giggle.  Does your family have photos as awkward as this one? Or this one? The more I read the archives the better they get.

Last night someone twittered something about how it was Sunday night already and I was truly taken aback because I didn’t even realize it was Sunday. I could have sworn it was just any other week night. Now it’s Monday and it doesn’t really feel like Monday as much as it feels like Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. It doesn’t feel like a Friday though. Fridays feel a little more hopeful, like there is some room to breathe. But it’s Monday, and it doesn’t feel like a Monday because another weekend went by where I just didn’t get a break.

I spent Saturday at the neighborhood clean-up with both of the boys, picking trash up off of the sidewalks, pulling weeds and sweeping up debris, while B did the neighborhood clean up at the park working on the garden 100% child-free. Sunday was spent at home with the boys while B was out in the driveway working on his boat until he left for the lake to put his boat in the water. Another weekend where I’m solely in charge of childcare. If mothering is my full time job why don’t I get a break on the weekend? Why didn’t I participate in the neighborhood clean up without a stroller and three-year-old to manage?

To be fair to Boyfiend, I got an hour to go to the gym on Friday. And he gave me a little break around 7 last night when he gave the boys a bath and put the Fiendling to bed. He also let me sleep in yesterday, after I begged him to the night before. But in the grand scheme of things, an extra hour and a half of sleep and a night off of putting the 3 year old to bed isn’t much of break.

It’s not just this past weekend, it feels like all the time. I’m not blaming B. He’s not off in Atlantic City with whores and cocaine. Most of the time he’s working on things around the house. He has been up early several weekend mornings to procure free firewood for next winter and spent an entire weekend splitting the logs. Even if he’s off doing things for himself, like this weekend with the boat, and bike rides with his brother I don’t begrudge him the time. He should have time to enjoy himself unencumbered. But where’s my time?

The problem is that I don’t know how to carve it out for myself anymore. I feel so completely shut off from my friends who don’t have children, and none of my friends from before I had kids have children. None of them. Most of them don’t even call me anymore. I ran into Junkiegirl twice over the past week and we talked more on the street in front of the laundromat than we’ve talked in the past six months. I don’t think it even occurs to her to ever call me to hang out because I haven’t been able to for so long.

My new friends, the ones who have children, spend weekends with their husbands and kids together. And I call them friends, but when I think about it have I ever actually spent any substantial time with them without our kids involved? Of all of the women I spend time with, I don’t even know that we’d be friends if we didn’t have kids. What common interests do we have? What shared experiences? Aside from my book club and the occasional “girl’s night out,” (and my god, I hate that it’s called a fucking girl’s night out when someone organizes it. I find the description to be trite and mildly offensive) I don’t know any of them.

When I have a few hours to myself on the weekend I spend it the only way I know how- at the gym or at the supermarket. It’s pathetic. B suggested I take a day and do something, but what? With whom? Where am I supposed to go and what am I supposed to do? What did I even do before? I want time to myself, but I don’t want to spend it all by myself.

Anyway, it’s Monday. I’ve got another five days without a break in front of me. I have to go fish a used tissue out of the baby’s hand.

I’ve read the book this quote comes from and truer words have never been spoken. I need a job to pay for the babysitter.

Doodle by Lee.

At 12 months the baby is the perfect baby. We won the baby lottery with this kid. He is charming and pleasant and smiley and an all-around good time. Here are some things he likes and things he can do.

He can eat. He loves food and is most proficient at getting it cleanly into his mouth.

He can sign for more food. It is his only “word” thus far and he uses it to ask for more of just about everything he eats.

He can pull himself up. He likes to stand up and bang on surfaces and grin. He’s not yet ready to cruise or walk and that’s fine with me.

He likes to play with the shape sorter and is getting better at getting the right shapes in the right holes. It makes me proud to see him figure it out on his own.

He plays ball pretty well for a baby, throwing the ball to someone and waiting to get it when it’s rolled back.

He will give you something when he’s asked.

My favorite thing that he gives when asked is a kiss. Baby kisses are the best.

He loves his dada and his brother and lights up when they walk into the room.

His entire face crumples and he dissolves into tears when his dada leaves the room he’s just entered. It’s like his heart is breaking from the 3 seconds of loneliness.

He is a very good sleeper when it’s not a Wonder Week and he’s not teething. When the conditions are right he takes regular naps and sleeps through the night. I love him for that.

When he’s not putting them in his mouth he tries to put his shoes on his feet.

He likes to pick up the phone and put it to his ear. If I pick up the phone and say, “T, it’s for you,” and hand it to him he laughs and smiles like he’s won the baby lottery.

He loves cats and dogs and the pig around the corner. Our neighbor who rarely sees the baby came over holding his teeny tiny dog the other day. The baby was thrilled, and kept petting him and cooing. The neighbor said, “He is delighted. Just look at his face. He’s delighted.”

And that describes my baby. He is delighted by the world and he is a delight. We are lucky to have him.

One year ago today I was on my way home from my 39 week OB appointment. She checked my cervix and said, “You’re 3 centimeters and I’m on call. Would you like me to see if I can get this moving along?” The answer was yes, so she stripped my membranes and told me I could either go home or go to labor and delivery. Since I’m a pessimist, I didn’t think anything would come of the stripping of the membranes so I drove home, packed up the stroller, and took the Fiendling to the playground.

The rest of the morning was pretty mellow. I started contracting on the walk up to the playground and called Boyfiend to let him know what was going on. He had locked his keys in the car so I told him I’d drive them to him.  On our way back from the playground the contractions got a bit harder and closer together. I wasn’t positive that it was labor, but I realized I’d be stupid to drive and called B back to ask if he could break into his car. I called my mother in law to see if she could come over and take care of F. She wasn’t home so I left a message.

At home, about 3 hours after my appointment, I was miserable. The contractions were serious and there was no longer any question that I was in labor. I was trying not to let F see that I was pain, but I could barely stand or walk. B was still at work and I hadn’t heard from his mother. I called Mix to see if he could help me if necessary and he was ready and willing.

B called his mom who was babysitting our niece, E,  just a few blocks from our house. She then called me to see how I was doing. I told her I was in labor and needed to get to the hospital. She told me she could come over and get F after E woke up from her nap. I can’t remember if this pissed me off at the time or if it pissed me off later, but at some point I was furious because I was in active labor with contractions three minutes apart and she, just two city blocks away needed to wait until E woke up to help me out.

I called Mix because I was ready to get to the hospital. I did not want to be in the car if contractions got any closer together. I tried to keep F occupied with trains while I was doubled over in pain waiting for B to get his goddamn keys out of his car. He called security to help him out and ended up taking the slim jim from the guy and breaking into his car himself. He got home shortly after Mix got here. Mix got F to my mother-in-law and B took me to the hospital.

My contractions were 1.5 to 2 minutes apart and I was 6 centimeters when we got there. They were kind enough to get me an epidural soon after my arrival and B and I spent the rest of the afternoon/evening just hanging out and watching a Family Guy marathon. My L&D nurse was fantastic and moved me into a vertical position so gravity would be on our side. Without feeling much pain or doing much of anything at all I labored for hours until I was 10 centimeters and the baby was at a O station. The nurse suggested laying on my left side for a bit. It was a good suggestion and shortly afterwards the baby, who had been hanging out on my right side, moved down.  I felt some pressure and the nurse took a look and showed B the baby’s head, ready to come out. She got the doctor and after five minutes of pushing, about 11 hours after my membranes were stripped, my baby boy was born.

Both children awoke at the same time last night. I heard the close of the door and the little boy feet on the stairs as the quiet whimpers of just awakening started in the nursery next door. The Fiendling made it into our room before the whimpers turned into wails. The wails began in earnest so I tucked F into bed and told him I was going to put the baby back to bed and I’d be back in a few minutes. He cried, “No, take me with you. I want to go with you.” When I told him he couldn’t go in with me he said, “Bring him back in here!”

I tried to settle him but the baby was getting louder and he was getting louder. The longer the baby cries, the longer it takes him to go back to sleep and the longer the Fiendling is up and talking the longer it takes him. Of course Boyfiend was still sound asleep. It took a minute of me saying his name for him to register that I needed him to wake up and help. He muttered something to F about staying bed and went back to sleep. Luckily, F stayed in bed with him when I left.

When I got back into bed F was still wide awake and B was snoring. F wanted some of my water and wanted to know what time it was and if it was morning yet. After ten minutes he fell back to sleep. A few hours later I awoke to a kick right smack in the middle of my chest. F had somehow turned sideways in his sleep and nailed me. Then the baby started crying. I tried to ignore it, hoping he’d go back to sleep, but he was screaming so I got up again and went into the nursery. Once he was asleep again I tried to put T back in the crib, but of course he started screaming at the top of his lungs because it’s a Wonder Week and he’s getting another molar. I left him to cry and bury my head under the pillow. By the time he fell back to sleep I had about 20 minutes before (the still sound asleep) Boyfiend’s alarm woke me again.

This is the norm in my house. If children are waking in the night I am dealing with them. If children are in our bed I am being kicked by them. If children are screaming I am the only one who hears them. I am convinced Boyfiend was dreaming about the two wake ups I slept through the other night.

I finally finished knitting a massive project. I laid it out to see how much blocking was required and my mother said, “What happened there? Did you drop a stitch?”

Thanks.

Mother’s Day wasn’t bad. The Fiendling spent Friday and Saturday night with my in-laws so we could get ready for the party on Sunday. The baby woke me up at 6.30. At 9 I woke B with coffee in bed. I was only slightly bitter.

The baby’s first birthday party was big and fun and the house is mostly cleaned up. We have more leftover cookies than we know what to do with.

His actual birthday isn’t until Wednesday. I’m not crying about it yet, but all of the newborns I see are brutal reminders that my baby won’t be a baby for much longer. I anticipate tears on his birthday proper.

I did something to my big toe. I’m not entirely sure what I did to it since it’s not bruised or swollen, but I’ve spent the last two days hobbling around. It is incredibly painful to walk without shoes. I must have pulled something. The few steps from bedroom to bathroom in the middle of the night are excruciating.

Speaking of the middle of the night, I just learned from B that I somehow managed to get him to take care of two middle of the night wakeups. Both F and T woke up and I have no memory of either. He says the Fiendling was at my side of the bed imploring me to get up and get him his water from upstairs and I made him go instead. He claims that he also rocked the baby back to sleep after I woke him up and told him to. I find this most difficult to believe. I posited that perhaps he dreamed it, but F remembers that he wanted me, not B to get his water and was sad that I did not. I must have been exhausted.

I went back to the pulmonologist this morning for my three-month check up. She wanted to put me on a lower dose of my asthma medicine but didn’t because I’ve been hanging on to a cough since we all got sick a few weeks back. (Shit, it was a month ago. ) She gave me a prescription for the lower dose and told me to cut back my current dose to once a day instead of twice over the next six weeks and see how I do. She asked if the summer would be a tough time to do it because of the heat and it sucks because I just don’t know. I started coughing the first summer after F was born and didn’t get an asthma diagnosis for a year after that. But it wasn’t until this fall that I was finally given an inhaler that actually controlled the asthma. After close to three years of non-stop coughing I don’t know what seasons are worse than others. Childbirth really did wreck my immune system.

Two margaritas no longer improve my mood. Instead they give me a headache. I learned this the hard way last night.

B has been covered in poison ivy for more than a week and he’s completely miserable. I’m glad it’s not me, but I feel terrible for him.

The unrelenting rain is driving F up the wall. He is like a bull in a china shop. He doesn’t rest, he just runs back and forth bashing and crashing into things like me and the baby.

I will blame the rain for my short temper. It’s very difficult not to scream at the kid after he headbutts the baby. Poor baby.

I need an initial for the baby. How about T, for “the” since Boyfiend is already B.

T busted out another molar. I guess some babies really do get fevers and diarrhea when they’re teething. F never did. He just stopped sleeping for six months at a time.

T’s birthday party is this weekend. I am heartbroken that my baby is going to be one.

The house is a disaster and the backyard is a disaster and with this endless rain I don’t know how I’ll get it together. It’s impossible to clean inside with two children destroying every area I so painstakingly unclutter and clean.

My laundry room is currently housing four loads of clean laundry. There is one clean load in this room. I have no interest in folding it and putting it away.

T has cheerios stuck to his butt right now.

This week I’ve made two batches of chocolate chip cookie dough, two loaves of whole wheat sandwich bread, four sourdough baguettes, and pizza dough. It’s only Wednesday morning.  I would like the rain to stop so I can stop baking. Why am I baking so much? Because F likes to help. And by help I mean drive his trains through the flour and eat chocolate chips.

Driving his trains through the flour requires less clean up than allowing him to drive his trains through playdough. It doesn’t get stuck in the wheels, harden, and fall out all over the goddamn house, leaving tasty little pink and blue bits for the baby to eat.

I would very much like this week to be over.