Regrets
Today I had what my nephew would call a "MELT-down." Mostly it's my fault: I haven't had a do-nothing day for about 3 weeks, what with vacation, teaching a small camp class this week, full weekends. Plus I have been staying up till 2 AM every night since Saturday, reading the new Harry Potter book aloud with D. Duh. (And if you are a reader of this blog, you already know I am a nerd so just let me be a nerd!) Then, every naptime has been drastically slashed to an hour and a half, with the first part taken up with A crying MAMA, (sob) MAMAAAA, (sob), MA-MA? (sob) once I leave the room after depositing his sleeping body in the bed. I don't know what he is afraid of, or anxious about, but he has never--I really am not exaggerating--never had trouble getting to sleep. I used to just put him in his bed awake, and he'd lay down obediently and talk himself to sleep.
(some might say, well perhaps he doesn't need a nap anymore? that he is outgrowing them? To which I reply, he is tired out, totally pooped, when I lay him down. He seems to be staying up out of sheer stubbornness. I can't think of another plausible reason)
So my meltdown. Today I decided to try the let-him-cry method, while I tried to read the ending of this horribly depressing book whose ending was blabbed to me 3 days ago by a student. I also think I ate some bad blueberries, so there was plenty of opportunity to read if you get my very gross drift. I desperately needed a nap as well, but it was hard to do any of this while A just cried and cried and cried, MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMAAAAA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA.... There is not enough space to record how many times I heard my own name in an hour of this.
As I lay there, or sat there, so many horrible things went through my head, from the terrible happenings in the fictional world to my own boiling anger and misery. I started to think about how nice it will be when A goes to school finally, and I will have some time to myself, to have two consecutive thoughts without a little person demanding every ounce of my energy. To do a painting during the daylight hours. To do ANYTHING by myself during the daylight hours. To take a crap, for God's sake, without someone pining away loudly in the other room or right next to me, pulling all the toilet paper off the roll. I resented the jolt in my stomach that I always have whenever he cries, like when Mia Wallace gets the adrenaline shot in Pulp Fiction after snorting heroin. He would get quiet for 3 seconds, I would think wildly, "thank you God for helping him get to sl---" MAMA MAMA MAMA, sob, quiver, MAMA MAMA....
I went into his room, after slamming my own door pretty hard and grinding my teeth. I picked him up, and his face was all red and sweaty, his hair sopping wet with sweat too. I rocked us both to sleep, and thought my God, I am just wishing away this time, and what do I have, just another year of this? That's it, then he goes off to become a little person, a boy, a teenager. And if I only have him, the one child--which looks to me to be the healthiest thing after the destruction caused by his birth--then I just can't keep saying "I can't wait until _________so this is more convenient for me." I felt horribly guilty, and was crying so much that A woke up again to see what the trouble was.
There is just so much I want to do that doesn't involve children. Or even one child. I don't feel guilty for wanting to do other things, because God did not give me talents to just taunt me with them--I know he wants me to use them, not waste them or fall out of practice. All the same, I am out of practice. And what is life like with a toddler, staying at home? A messy breakfast full of demands, 3 or 4 hours of ?? board books, toys, changing a poopy diaper. Going shopping if I can get dressed and get to the car without forgetting something important. While shopping I forget what I came for, it's hot, I hope he doesn't fall asleep in the car before lunch. Then a messy lunch, full of even more demands. Making a quickly-filled dent in the pile of dirty dishes. Naptime. Then two or three hours of toys, board books, maybe a video if things are really bad and I am trying to cook. It's not really cooking so much as making food. Then if I am lucky, D is home and can help out a bit. A messy dinner, an hour or two of stuff. Then brushing A's teeth, which is more of a wrestling match. Pray, sing a song, put him down. It all looks so placid on paper, but I know that every one of these things is a struggle, a colossal pain in the ass.
You understand, I hope, that I am talking out of my frustration here. There's loads of self-pity and whining, when I am fully aware that my lifestyle is a luxury. I don't worry about bills, or day care, or a crappy neighborhood. I have other mom-friends who I can be honest with, who understand the soul-crushing monotony and frustration. I have an excellent marriage. So don't think I am ungrateful for this, or unaware, or disillusioned in any way. I expected life with a child to suck so much worse than it has. I'm merely venting here, because sometimes it's just so hard. Even when it's easy, it's hard. I trained my whole life for something other than raising a child, so it seems like a surreal detour sometimes. I know it isn't a detour, and that raising this little boy, who I love more than my own life, is what I'm supposed to be doing right now. But some days I wind up too frustrated to see that clearly.
(some might say, well perhaps he doesn't need a nap anymore? that he is outgrowing them? To which I reply, he is tired out, totally pooped, when I lay him down. He seems to be staying up out of sheer stubbornness. I can't think of another plausible reason)
So my meltdown. Today I decided to try the let-him-cry method, while I tried to read the ending of this horribly depressing book whose ending was blabbed to me 3 days ago by a student. I also think I ate some bad blueberries, so there was plenty of opportunity to read if you get my very gross drift. I desperately needed a nap as well, but it was hard to do any of this while A just cried and cried and cried, MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMAAAAA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA.... There is not enough space to record how many times I heard my own name in an hour of this.
As I lay there, or sat there, so many horrible things went through my head, from the terrible happenings in the fictional world to my own boiling anger and misery. I started to think about how nice it will be when A goes to school finally, and I will have some time to myself, to have two consecutive thoughts without a little person demanding every ounce of my energy. To do a painting during the daylight hours. To do ANYTHING by myself during the daylight hours. To take a crap, for God's sake, without someone pining away loudly in the other room or right next to me, pulling all the toilet paper off the roll. I resented the jolt in my stomach that I always have whenever he cries, like when Mia Wallace gets the adrenaline shot in Pulp Fiction after snorting heroin. He would get quiet for 3 seconds, I would think wildly, "thank you God for helping him get to sl---" MAMA MAMA MAMA, sob, quiver, MAMA MAMA....
I went into his room, after slamming my own door pretty hard and grinding my teeth. I picked him up, and his face was all red and sweaty, his hair sopping wet with sweat too. I rocked us both to sleep, and thought my God, I am just wishing away this time, and what do I have, just another year of this? That's it, then he goes off to become a little person, a boy, a teenager. And if I only have him, the one child--which looks to me to be the healthiest thing after the destruction caused by his birth--then I just can't keep saying "I can't wait until _________so this is more convenient for me." I felt horribly guilty, and was crying so much that A woke up again to see what the trouble was.
There is just so much I want to do that doesn't involve children. Or even one child. I don't feel guilty for wanting to do other things, because God did not give me talents to just taunt me with them--I know he wants me to use them, not waste them or fall out of practice. All the same, I am out of practice. And what is life like with a toddler, staying at home? A messy breakfast full of demands, 3 or 4 hours of ?? board books, toys, changing a poopy diaper. Going shopping if I can get dressed and get to the car without forgetting something important. While shopping I forget what I came for, it's hot, I hope he doesn't fall asleep in the car before lunch. Then a messy lunch, full of even more demands. Making a quickly-filled dent in the pile of dirty dishes. Naptime. Then two or three hours of toys, board books, maybe a video if things are really bad and I am trying to cook. It's not really cooking so much as making food. Then if I am lucky, D is home and can help out a bit. A messy dinner, an hour or two of stuff. Then brushing A's teeth, which is more of a wrestling match. Pray, sing a song, put him down. It all looks so placid on paper, but I know that every one of these things is a struggle, a colossal pain in the ass.
You understand, I hope, that I am talking out of my frustration here. There's loads of self-pity and whining, when I am fully aware that my lifestyle is a luxury. I don't worry about bills, or day care, or a crappy neighborhood. I have other mom-friends who I can be honest with, who understand the soul-crushing monotony and frustration. I have an excellent marriage. So don't think I am ungrateful for this, or unaware, or disillusioned in any way. I expected life with a child to suck so much worse than it has. I'm merely venting here, because sometimes it's just so hard. Even when it's easy, it's hard. I trained my whole life for something other than raising a child, so it seems like a surreal detour sometimes. I know it isn't a detour, and that raising this little boy, who I love more than my own life, is what I'm supposed to be doing right now. But some days I wind up too frustrated to see that clearly.
1 Comments:
Year of the Rabbit, eh? No wonder you like bunnies!
As for "Regrets", you wouldn't be a flesh and blood, emotional, thinking, feeling human being if you didn't have days like this. Perhaps we, (mothers and I am certainly included here), should swallow our stupid pride a little more and lean on each other more when life gets so hard. What are friends for anyway? Call me when you get overwhelmed I can take little A for a few hours while you regain your sanity or recover from blueberry-badness. :)
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