New Year Resolutions

Convincing myself that I can become a better person. Once again. For the upcoming year. Sigh..

Every year I make the same resolution – try to become a better person. Sleep more. Sleep better. Yell less. Meditate. Ground my soul. Exercise. Eat healthier. Become a better parent. Become someone I want to be proud of looking back on the year when the year’s end comes around.

Year 2017 accomplishments:
We are all still here and surviving through the hell of infant hood to toddler hood.
We have become a stronger family and are doing better in communicating with one another.
We are learning how to become better people every day for the sake of our sanity and our relationships with friends and family.

Resolution for the new year:
Survive.

Thus Begins The Descent

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

Different Day, Similar Shit

Wake up. See who’s awake (spoiler – most days, both are). Check diapers. Change diapers. Shower. Bring babies down. Bottles. TV show of the day (Cat in the Hat, Octonauts, Phineas and Ferb). Make coffee. Drink coffee. Sift through emails and go through voicemails for work. Snack / lunch (bananas, cheese, sandwich, more milk, yogurt). NAPS. I get some work and paperwork and organizing of the life done. Then – home stretch – the grandparents and the daddy come home. Dinner. Bath. Mosey until bedtime.

MODIFIED SCHEDULE:
INSTEAD OF NAPS… Now, Dom naps while Shane rolls around the couch and living room munching on some snacks while half watching a TV show. Eventually his random shouts of excitement wake Dom up who in turn is brought downstairs if I am unable to put him back to sleep. Shane is left upstairs to nap. After a few minutes of protesting and crying, he goes quiet and passes out. Dom then is left to run around the living room requiring my constant attention until Shane eventually wakes up. Then both are rolling around the living room cranky and upset because they are both tired.
INSTEAD OF SMOOTH BATH TIMES… Since we have begun the exciting adventure of potty training, there have been multiple accidents in the potty both from the young one and the one we are attempting to potty train. Thus draining of the water, cleaning of the tub, rinsing of the babies, and re-filling the tub has been a frequent process.

Literally the same fights, the same conversations, the same everything. Just different days. Slightly different adventures. I’m just so freaking tired of repeating myself over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. And, yes, I know they’re just kids and that’s my job as a parent to reinforce the same things over and over and over again since that is how they learn. But I’m seriously losing my freaking mind. How many more days do I have to say “Toothbrush is for brushing teeth, not toilet” and “No kicking Mommy during diaper time”? I’m so over it most days. There is no coffee strong enough to fuel this shit.

Mommy Groups

Today, a SAHM group on FB threatened to delete its members who were not actively participating in going to events on a regular basis. Regular being at least once a week, it seemed like. Apparently in the few months this group had been established, I had not been to enough meetings. In all fairness, I had not gone to any. I attempted to go out to one play date hosted at a member’s house, but due to the inclement weather and car switches with the hubby, I wasn’t able to make it. The creator of the group is a great person, I’m sure, and she’s only making sure the group is working as its intent was set out to be. I would have loved to go to many events, but it’s a bit difficult to keep an eye on two extremely accident-prone toddler boys who don’t understand the meaning of danger. “We help each other look out for each others’ kids” is always a comment that is thrown around, but honestly.. let’s be real. When you’re busy looking after your own, how can you have time to look after another? Are you secretly a land octopus hiding your other 6 arms? Do you have extra eyes I’m unaware of? People throw that phrase around, but I don’t think anyone really understands how ridiculous that phrase is. The boys get hurt at home under the watchful eye of three adults. If you are not resolved to the idea of hunkering down and literally watching the kids every single second, don’t even offer. It’s insulting and plain silly. You can’t “help watch” my first kid who is probably trying to go down the stupidly high slide when I’m wrestling the second kid down from the stairs he’s climbing on the jungle gym on the outdoor playground you decided to hold this event at and when your own child is sitting in your lap. I even made the comment that I would try to be more proactive in responding to posts and in trying to come out to more events and actually post some ideas of meeting more of the group members, but she then rebutted with “[unless I actually see a change, I have to start deleting people for the greater good of the group]”. (And I’m completely paraphrasing because I’m annoyed and petty and I left the group so I can’t retrieve the actual quote she used.) Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was an obligation. I thought the purpose of this group was to make friends. I don’t need friends who get their panties in a ball if I can’t see them for a few months. I don’t need anyone making me feel like shit for not being as active as them. I don’t need “friends” who judge me based on how many times I see them and about the “effort” it seems like I put in in being social. And they wonder why mommy friends are so fucking hard to make. Because we’re all so fucking emotional. And because some people just don’t mesh together and the fact that you’re both mommies don’t make things all magically better and compatible. I’m beginning to truly disengage from even trying to make mommy friends. Maybe I’ll begin when the kids are in school and then it’ll be the obligatory mommy friends because our kids are friends. I realize this rant has gotten increasingly mean and rude. I know the creator of the group was only trying to make sure the group was being used as it was supposed to be in her mind. But it doesn’t make me feel any better at the moment. Please excuse my rage venting about this.

Death By Boob

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.

Superheroes

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?