Times are really trying recently. I don’t feel like I’m in the right head space most of the time. I feel like I’m stuck in a place where I’m supposed to be going and where I should be. I feel like I’m settling, but still fighting. I feel.. angry. I feel frustrated. I feel.. all around hopeless, I guess. And it’s a silly place to be because I am where I’m supposed to be. I am where I am called to be at this moment. But I don’t know why I’m still fighting it so. We’re all called to do different things. We’re all.. meant to be someone. And that someone may not be the someone you thought you wanted to be. Maybe I’m just hopped up on these period hormones. Maybe I’m just sleep deprived and coming down from a sugar binge. But every day has just been waves upon waves upon waves just crashing down. Every minute, every hour. It’s something. Whether it’s the 15 minutes repeating to the kids to put their pants on only to have them rip them right off 15 minutes later or whether it’s the dog or cat marking territory or having accidents when they don’t get enough attention, I feel like I’m always on watch. I can’t step away for a moment because in that single moment I have eyes away from the babies (fur babies included), they find something new to wreck. I need to be 100% with all of four of them all the time. Hearing the cat scratching on the floor means he more than likely peed outside his litter box. Not getting home before 4pm almost always guarantees an accident from the dog. Turn your eyes away from the kids for a moment and they’ve gotten a hand on knives or flung their feces across the room. I’m just… not sure I’ve been called to do the right thing. I don’t think I’m cut out for this. And, I know, this stage doesn’t last forever. But it’s really, really challenging. And, yes, I know every mother out there is probably going through the same thing and I’m just whining and griping about this universally difficult feat which in turn makes me almost always feel worse. Knowing I’m failing more than others. Or is it that all mothers are miserably failing but some are just more adept at hiding it from others?
I feel like I’m going crazy. Let’s be real. I am going crazy.
Blame it on the lack of sleep. Blame it on the kids. Blame it on the lack of adult communication. But I don’t think I’m okay. I don’t know if I ever was okay. Not only am I in a constant crisis of searching for an identity, I am actually not sure if I ever had one. As I delve deeper into this social psychology class, I don’t even know if I identify with a group which apparently is super important in evolving as a person.
I had yet another melt down today. Except this time I actually thought about running away. Seriously. I thought about packing a bag and going to the gym for a few hours to clear my head since running away to Bora Bora wasn’t an option. I’m just so sick and tired of repeating my days and my words over and over and over again to these kids. It’s as if they’re falling on deaf ears. And, before you say it, I know. I know this is what being a parent is all about. Tolerating them through their mistakes and growing pains until they get it right. But that feels like it’ll happen in five billion light years. I’m tired of being on-call every single minute, every single second of every day. Seriously.
You turn around for one second and Dom has his hands on scissors. You turn around to handle that and Shane has taken off his pants and diaper. You turn around to take care of that issue and Dom has gotten a hold of a car track and chasing Donte around the living room trying to hit him over the head. You handle that and Shane has climbed a chair to try to get to the leftover Goldfish and smoothie on the table. You get him off safely and Dom is now climbing the hubby’s computer chair and pounding away on the keys. I’m just really, really, really tired. Tired of life. Tired of existing solely to have eyes on two danger-loving toddlers who seem to love going diaper-less but are not yet potty trained. All day. From the second their little eyes open to the very long hours their little bodies finally fall asleep.
I’m just tired of answering the same questions from my parents about the kids and life. I’m tired of justifying every aspect of my life to my parents. I’m tired of saying “I’m okay” when I’m really not only because there’s nothing anybody can really do to help. I’m tired of constantly feeling like I’m failing at life. I’m tired of feeling like I’m just wasting everyone’s time and energy in existing when I fail as a mother, wife, and daughter. Every few days or so, I end up going to a really dark place which has been taking me longer and longer to get out of. But during those good few days, they’re great. They remind me why I love where I am. They remind me that these moments too shall pass. They remind me that if I can just get through those dark patches, I will come back and continue fighting through the obscurity that is this stage of life.
But I guess for now I’ll just keep praying that He gives me the strength to make it through these
Some days are better than others. Today was one of those days.
Fitbit says I slept 4.45 hours, but I felt refreshed..-ish. We woke up a little later than normal and had the house to ourselves this morning. I wrote bills. I put said bills in the outgoing mailbox. I was able to spend some alone time with Shane reading some books with him. I was able to do take care of some work. Dinner went relatively smoothly with the help of the hubs. Bath. Bedtime went relatively quickly due to their awfully short nap this afternoon. I was able to get some last minute work done prior to 9pm. Thinking about heading out to Giant to make a tapioca pudding run.. but perhaps I’ll forgo that and polish off this half-drunken, day-old bubble tea just binge Rizzoli and Isles on Hulu.
It’s only 912pm! The limits of what I can do are endless! Until the youngest baby wakes up. In about an hour probably. So I will make a run to Giant to get tapioca pudding so I can binge on both snacks and Hulu after I finish my work report.
These past few days, I’ve been battling a plugged duct and a case of self-diagnosed rotavirus. As I sat on the toilet shitting liquid poop like water from a water gun while breastfeeding my little baby, I contemplated my week and wondered how it had led me to be comfortable to this state of ridiculousness.
This is how my week has looked so far..
Monday – granddaddy doesn’t work. hubby went into work on his day off to put in more hours on account of us not being able to make our payments last month (le sigh).
Woke up feeling feverish.
630AM the older baby his AM bottle and changed his diaper, and gave the little baby to the parents so I could nap in a little while longer
830AM little baby was brought up to me on account of needing to be fed. grandmommy tells me big baby only got half a banana and had one container of Danimal (he normally gets a waffle and a full banana for breakfast). I ask her to give him a bottle and to put him into bed for his AM nap since he was signing that he was tired
[[AM nap for babies and me while daddy and grandmommy goes to work]]
11AM woke up in a cold sweat with little baby climbing all over me. fed little baby. changed little baby’s diaper. brought little baby down to living room very slowly since I’m dizzy when I stand. went up and changed big baby’s diaper on account of him yelling and making his awoken slumber aware. brought big baby down. let them play around in the living room for a little while while I sat on the couch sweating bullets and freezing my ass off.
12PM big baby signs he’s hungry. fix him a pb sammich and banana. little one is whining and wants to be held. I put on Paw Patrol while I hold little baby and big baby eats.
1230PM big baby is done and needs to be washed and changed and played with. I can’t function at this point. I’m dizzy, sweating, can’t catch my breathe when I stand. I ask the granddaddy to help and take over and play with babies while I try to nap it off.
1PM granddaddy calls me from downstairs asking me to come down
130PM granddaddy calls me again
2PM granddaddy calls me again. I go down and scream that all I asked was for a little time so I can recover. I’m freezing, dripping sweat like I had a fake hose stuffed up my shirt and had it rain on my head, exhausted, frustrated. he takes one look at me and goes downstairs to his room. I feed little baby. I try to play with babies, but realize immediately that I should not and cannot be around them in my state. I scream at him to come upstairs and relieve me. I begin to hyperventilate under the anxiety that I can’t even function as a mommy right now. hands begin to cramp due to lack of O2. I freak out knowing this is a very very very bad move. I lie down on the floor to calm down. I eventually make it up the stairs back into bed. I call hubby and see if he can come home a little early from work on account of me being under the weather. I sink into darkness and thank the sweet Lord for having help even if it was forced
4PM hubby comes home and hands little baby to me telling me he thinks he’s hungry. I feed little baby and tell hubby that big baby can nap
6PM little baby wakes. I ask hubby to take him and check diaper and to take him downstairs.
[[From here on out, it was a blur. Everything from that night was a blur. All I know is that the hubby brought the little baby to me when he was hungry and sleepy and little baby napped with me. I wrapped myself in two thick blankets and sweat my life away. I woke up every 30 minutes to make sure I wasn’t smothering little baby who cosleeps with us. I think I went downstairs for a little bit when the grandmommy came home and went right back up to sleep. Poor hubby took care of so much that night. He came up to sleep sometime when I was passed out.]]
Fed little baby a few times throughout the night, but didn’t check on big baby until the next morning on account of me not feeling stupid dizzy from standing to walk a few steps to the bathroom. I didn’t wanna risk going in and collapsing in the middle of the night.
Tuesday – granddaddy went to work around 11AM. nobody else was home.
I wasn’t as dizzy this day. I was able to go downstairs without feeling like I was going to collapse. Grandparents were able to take care of babies in the AM until their AM nap. I was able to take care of babies until hubby came home. Just very, very slowly. I had an utter breakdown that evening because little baby WOULD. NOT. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. He just whined and whined and whined and whined. I began crying and sobbing hysterically to the point where I think my mother called the hubby to tell him to come help me. LULZ. The sheer embarrassment where I could not even handle myself.
Wednesday – granddaddy doesn’t work
I feel a bit better, just stomach cramps and lots and lots of runny poop. Still only at 85%. I had a meltdown at night because hubs brought up a half sleepy baby who just wanted to roll around and head butt my face and sore body. BUT I fell asleep at sometime and apparently little baby eventually fell asleep next to me. This terrified me because he could have easily fallen off the bed and I would not have been the wiser. I was that exhausted. I couldn’t believe I could have actually fallen asleep before little baby. I made the decision that if I ever feel that exhausted again, I will alert hubby so he can watch baby or let little baby cry it out in his crib as to not endanger him ever again.
Thursday – Everyone works.
I survived. I feel better. It’s the evening now. I think I’m at a good 90%. I’ve been so, so angry these past few days. I have been screaming at the babies, cursing at the world, and just been all around a complete and utter bitch. My poor hubby and my poor parents have had to endure my complete breakdown these past few days.
Writing this has taken me decades it seems. It’s most definitely now bedtime. I don’t think I’ve had a coherent thought since my first pregnancy. My brain jumps from one thing to another. I don’t think I’ve ever had one string of thought that made sense. Even speaking to my friends, I know I don’t make sense sometimes. I start by talking about one thing then end with a completely different topic.
Anyhoo, I don’t remember what this whole rant was about. All I know is that I have been the worst mother and worst daughter and worst wife in these past few days I have ever thought I could be. And I wish I could take it all back. I wish I was a better person. I wish I was a better person under pressure. I wish I was a better mother. I saw the look on my little baby’s face when I yelled at him these past few days. He was so confused and upset. I saw the confusion on the big baby’s face when I yelled at him for communicating with me. They don’t know better, but I do. I was awful. Truly awful. I need to learn to be a better person.
There’s only one answer to that, right?
Even if you feel like you’re drowning. Even if you feel like you’re consumed with self-loathing thoughts. Even when you’ve realized it’s been a whole week without any adult conversation aside from “what do you want for dinner” and “how was your day”. Even when you are so sleep deprived you’re literally a walking zombie going through the motions of feeding babies, cleaning up babies, saying “no” to babies, chasing after babies, praying and rocking babies to nap, and repeat. Even if the only thing getting you through the day is the 10 minute shower you begin the day with. Even if you’re so exhausted you feel like you just want out of the life which then makes you feel like the worst mother. Even on the days you’re too tired and your child eats a bag of cookies for lunch and you feel like a failure.
Even then. Any other answer aside from “it’s great” is not acceptable. An acquaintance asked me this very question at a mutual friend’s wedding we attended today (sans babies!).
“How’s mom life?” He asked eagerly.
“Eh,…” I hesitated, as I took a sip of much needed nectar from the gods in the form of fermented grapes.
“Wonderful, I assume? I bet it’s the best being at home with the two babies!”
“Wonderful is definitely a word to describe it.”
He kind of slinked away awkwardly after looking at me quizzically at my response.
What else was I to say?
“Oh, you know. Breastfeeding is going well, but the baby doesn’t really seem to be interested in solids at 7 mo. Baby Shane is a handful, but considering his diagnosis, he’s excelling in every area of development! Baby Dom is now mobile and getting into everything his older brother is getting into. We’re moving the little one into his crib and I’m going through a roller coaster of emotions. Life is hard. I’m lonely at home. I wait for hubby to get home and when he does I fight a computer game for his attention. I’m sleep deprived and exhausted. My emotions and hormones are still trying to get balanced. I’m angry and frustrated most days. I’m elated and blessed others. We have no time or money to do much or go out much. We mainly keep to ourselves cause it’s just too kick of a hassle to go anywhere or do anything logistically with two babies under two. But aside from all that, I’m great. Life is great. Parenthood is great.”
I’m in a group of friends who are either single or dating. A few friends are engaged or newlyweds, but none are thinking of children yet. We were launched into a world of being a family much, much quickly than expected. We got married in May 2014 and had a child by November 2014. We are now expecting another in November 2015. By the end of year 2015, we will be a family of 4.
It shouldn’t bother me much that our friends wouldn’t invite us to certain group activities since we are a big family and it’s a bit of a hassle to travel with, but it does. It bothers me that when we get invited to an event, we have to think of bathroom situations, baby entertainment situations, and financial situations. Is there a changing table in the bathroom? If there isn’t, where will we change him? Is there enough room in this restaurant for a stroller to fit next to our table? If Shane gets fussy, would I be able to hold him and entertain him without having to worry or be judged by our dinner neighbors about a yelling child? Are we able to afford this dinner and still have money for gas and weekly expenses? Are we splitting this bill evenly even though we had a bowl of soup and a salad? If we do decide to hang out at this event, will we be home in time so we get enough sleep for the next day’s activities? It bothers me more that we have so many things to worry about if and when invited to an event.
We’re on an extreme budget ever since I quit my job to stay at home with baby Shane. Budgeting isn’t much on our friends’ minds since they don’t have too many expenses, but it’s something that is constantly on our minds. After bills, we’re left with such little to work with. Sometimes it’s a choice of whether to go out to dinner with friends or getting groceries for the week. It has come down to making the decision of either going out to grab a cup of coffee with a friend or getting a box of granola bars for my husband’s breakfasts for the week. I understand that this isn’t something that is on many peoples’ minds since we’re in a completely different stage of life than they are, but it’s a lonely road. I do have a few friends who are mothers and struggling as we are, but they are all so far away in distance. Their children are also a little older so they have their hands a bit full with their toddlers who come with a whole other set of difficult struggles.
I should reach out to mommy groups in the area, but it just seems like such a huge hassle. It’s tough getting this 10 month old baby out for his specialist appointments and my OB appointments. How am I supposed to be willing to go out and be polite around strangers who are also struggling daily? Would it not be a blind leading the blind situation? Then there are those who do seem like they have it all together. They’ve lost their baby weight. They’ve gotten a routine down. They have family or a sitter so they have their own self time.
Some days I feel like I’m drowning. Other days I feel so incredibly blessed for this path of life.
I know I don’t walk alone down this road, but it sure feels lonely.
Everything is romanticized; from dying to living.
Suicide, murder, the way people die – it’s all romanticized. You watch on TV all these murders, the way these actors portray dying, and the way these so-called heroes go about enacting “justice”. I’m on a Law and Order: Special Victims Unit marathon binge. I have been watching a whole lot of TV recently since I’ve been cooped up here with the babies.
I was watching Once Upon a Time and one of the characters was having a baby. My experience was nothing like that. There is so much that the media doesn’t show. Is it because it’s something people don’t want to see? Is it because it turns people off the track that pregnancy and giving birth is this wonderful, blissful experience? Because it’s not. Pregnancy, for some, I’m sure is a wonderful experience – a blissful dream in which a family is the outcome. It is a dream, in a way, but this dream comes with a lot of unpleasant side effects that no one really talks about. Back acne, morning sickness (misleading description since it lasts all day, every day for some), forgetfulness, extreme fatigue, and even the inability to function as bed rest is issued for some. Nobody speaks of the “second birth” of the placenta. Nobody speaks of some things. Maybe because nobody wants to associate something so yucky and icky with something that’s supposed to be so wonderful and pure.
Even now, even with Shane home and in my arms, I don’t feel so much like a mother. Maybe because I’ve felt like a mother ever since I was young – taking care of my sister, taking care of my puppies, kittens, and other animals we rescued. Everyone keeps talking about this “motherly instinct”, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel this instinct and I don’t know why. What’s wrong with me? Some of my friends say it’s because I’ve overwhelmed and tired, and that all will just come in time. Yes, I am tired, but I feel like I should still have some sort of feeling, right? Of course I’m protective of my baby and do everything for him, but I do for Cody and Donte (the puppy and kitten) as well. Whether it be a human baby or baby animal, I treat them all the same. Am I supposed to hold my baby above my baby animals? I try to balance my time so I can do right by all of them. I spend most of my days with Shane in my room with me while Cody is mostly napping, roaming around downstairs, or keeping himself entertained with his toys. Donte is his own and does what he wants to as a cat normally does.
I just wish sometimes that my life was more like a fairy tale; that I could be more like a superhero. I wish I could juggle pumping, baby Shane, Cody, Donte, household chores, work, and school with ease. I wish I could be a supermom and be amazing. I’m sure everyone wants to. I mean, who wouldn’t want to? Being a superperson is what everyone strives to be. If we didn’t strive to be perfect, we would never better ourselves.
Whenever I ask my husband to do something or help me out, I feel like a little part of me is being given up. I feel weak. I feel like I’m admitting to defeat. I know it’s just me reaching out for help when I need it and I know it’s justified to ask for help, but I don’t like to. I guess I’m just prideful that way. I really need to let go of that and not feel bad about asking. I just always thought that I could hold my own and I could do everything by myself. But I can’t. I can’t juggle all this. It’s overwhelming. But who isn’t overwhelmed? Everyone is. So what gives me the right to complain or ask for help when there are those who don’t even have that option? Maybe I’m just being selfish. Maybe I should just trudge on and try to do everything myself. But I don’t want to be a martyr. Where are the lines drawn between being a martyr, being lazy, and just asking for help?