I am not good at asking for help. I don't like to admit I can't do anything, I don't generally like the way other people do things I want them to do, and I don't want to have to help other people do anything in response to their helping me. I am obviously kind of a jackass.
Right now, I am a jackass drowning in laundry, sticky floors/door handles, and diapers. I change a lot of diapers. In fact, I have spent about 7 years regularly changing diapers with a solid 2 more years to go. I hate diapers. But I digress.
Since Jack, my sweet 4-month-old, was born I have been very overwhelmed. I can't seem to get any tasks accomplished in the amount of time I think it should take. I am late everywhere. And the real kicker is that I can never really pinpoint what went wrong or why I am signing my kid into school while hoping that the school resource officer doesn't notice the other 3 kids unattended in my car. You know, in theory. I'm not saying I did that, DFCS. Even right now I can't seem to remember what I was going to say next.
I guess it was about asking for help and why I don't want to do it. I feel like since I quit my job, surely I should be able to accomplish the menial tasks I have to do every day. Any idiot with a driver's license and enough literacy to read Go, Dog, Go should be able to do my day. I suppose I am embarrassed that I'm really bad at being a stay-at-home mom. I don't understand Pinterest. I have no interest in home schooling. I don't make creative dinners or clean the toilets all that often.
Shouldn't I be able to both clean the house and get places on time? And why do I care? At no point in my life did I hope to be a really great housekeeper. The fact that I am disappointed in my housekeeping skills angers me. Gone from my life is the chance to win at something, the sense of intellectual challenge, and the encouragement of colleagues. It all makes me want to hit something (which is why I take classes called Boot Camp and Kickboxing, but that's a different topic.)
So, help. It admits failure in areas I didn't really want to succeed in anyway. It makes my fears and worries vulnerable to others and open to their judgment. I don't like sharing emotion. I don't usually like sharing my real self. If it weren't for my burning need to have an audience on a regular basis, I would be a pretty good hermit.
I am good at hugging little people. I am good at fixing boo-boos and teaching them to read. They feel loved and valued and are becoming good human beings. I get that that's the most important part of what I do right now. But they also have to have on clothes and eat every day and clean up spilled food and I just don't have any idea how to get better at organizing all of it. Mommyhood is surprisingly difficult when it turns out that your primary gift is snuggling. Snuggling and sarcasm. I'm also good at sarcasm.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Best Mom Tip #173: Count to four
Hey, I just found this blog I used to post on! Cool, huh?
Honestly, I've been a bit off of social media over the last several months. I've been pregnant, had my fourth baby, and been really hot throughout the oppressive summer months here in Atlanta. Those three items led up to my really not having anything to say that wasn't whiny. I certainly could have made fun of myself and the annoying aspects of pregnancy and heat (stuck to the car seats on several occasions, belly button sweat marks) but my life is pretty good and it seemed really ungrateful to complain. Even if it makes other people laugh.
Our family has enough money to live on, my husband has a pretty flexible work schedule, and my kids are healthy. Detailing how difficult it is to take three kids to the pool while wearing a whale costume/maternity bathing suit seemed petty. So I just didn't say anything at all. I learned that I don't really need to read facebook every day. I learned that my life is not greatly enhanced by WonderWall photos. I learned that if you ignore twitter for long enough, it will start sending you sad emails like a guy you're trying to get rid of by not answering the phone. It says it misses you, it tries to tell you what's going on with all of it's other friends while you're out of touch. I'm still not responding because the Please Come Back messages make me feel far more wanted than my 14 followers do.
So, what have I been doing for 5+ months? Well, I had a baby. Sweet Baby Jack is now about 6 weeks old and he is warm and precious. I had painful contractions that went nowhere for weeks. Eventually, I had another natural childbirth experience, but this one was a lot more difficult. I walked for hours, I knelt by the bed, I had to change positions to get him to finally come out. I don't know if you realize how hard it is to change positions while laboring, but it is not pretty. I helped pull my last baby out because the midwife said I had done all the work and that I deserved to deliver him. When it was all over, the nurses brought me cake. Real, painful, beautiful. I did post that on facebook.
I have been barfed on and pooped on. I've had nipple shields, a bout of thrush, and a scary test to make sure that Jack does not have Cystic Fibrosis. He doesn't. And I am still amazed at my blessings.
When I bathed the baby for the first time he pooped on me. I looked down and thought, "oh, good. At least my stomach caught all the poop so I don't have to clean the floor." Then I thought, "that's the most depressing positive thought I've ever had."
We went to a Braves game with Jay's work and while trying to nurse in a stadium full of people I lost a nursing pad. I decided to leave it on the ground with the peanuts, spilled beer, and frozen lemonade cups. It seemed less obvious than searching the floor for it while Jay's coworkers offered to help.
One day this week I woke up sitting up in my bed with a baby on my lap and I wasn't sure how long I'd been there or if I'd nursed him yet or not. In my most exhausted state I am really bummed by my pudgy belly and inability to get ahead of the housework and bill paying.
One morning I woke up silently cursing and chiding myself with "yeah, well, this is what you picked." This loud, career-less, messy, painful, schlumpy world of nursing and diapering and washing sheets. Then I leaned over to pick up the wiggly little baby with eyes like mine and thought, "oh, no. This is what I picked." This loud, messy, cuddly, warm world of love. And also diapers.
Honestly, I've been a bit off of social media over the last several months. I've been pregnant, had my fourth baby, and been really hot throughout the oppressive summer months here in Atlanta. Those three items led up to my really not having anything to say that wasn't whiny. I certainly could have made fun of myself and the annoying aspects of pregnancy and heat (stuck to the car seats on several occasions, belly button sweat marks) but my life is pretty good and it seemed really ungrateful to complain. Even if it makes other people laugh.
Our family has enough money to live on, my husband has a pretty flexible work schedule, and my kids are healthy. Detailing how difficult it is to take three kids to the pool while wearing a whale costume/maternity bathing suit seemed petty. So I just didn't say anything at all. I learned that I don't really need to read facebook every day. I learned that my life is not greatly enhanced by WonderWall photos. I learned that if you ignore twitter for long enough, it will start sending you sad emails like a guy you're trying to get rid of by not answering the phone. It says it misses you, it tries to tell you what's going on with all of it's other friends while you're out of touch. I'm still not responding because the Please Come Back messages make me feel far more wanted than my 14 followers do.
So, what have I been doing for 5+ months? Well, I had a baby. Sweet Baby Jack is now about 6 weeks old and he is warm and precious. I had painful contractions that went nowhere for weeks. Eventually, I had another natural childbirth experience, but this one was a lot more difficult. I walked for hours, I knelt by the bed, I had to change positions to get him to finally come out. I don't know if you realize how hard it is to change positions while laboring, but it is not pretty. I helped pull my last baby out because the midwife said I had done all the work and that I deserved to deliver him. When it was all over, the nurses brought me cake. Real, painful, beautiful. I did post that on facebook.
I have been barfed on and pooped on. I've had nipple shields, a bout of thrush, and a scary test to make sure that Jack does not have Cystic Fibrosis. He doesn't. And I am still amazed at my blessings.
When I bathed the baby for the first time he pooped on me. I looked down and thought, "oh, good. At least my stomach caught all the poop so I don't have to clean the floor." Then I thought, "that's the most depressing positive thought I've ever had."
We went to a Braves game with Jay's work and while trying to nurse in a stadium full of people I lost a nursing pad. I decided to leave it on the ground with the peanuts, spilled beer, and frozen lemonade cups. It seemed less obvious than searching the floor for it while Jay's coworkers offered to help.
One day this week I woke up sitting up in my bed with a baby on my lap and I wasn't sure how long I'd been there or if I'd nursed him yet or not. In my most exhausted state I am really bummed by my pudgy belly and inability to get ahead of the housework and bill paying.
One morning I woke up silently cursing and chiding myself with "yeah, well, this is what you picked." This loud, career-less, messy, painful, schlumpy world of nursing and diapering and washing sheets. Then I leaned over to pick up the wiggly little baby with eyes like mine and thought, "oh, no. This is what I picked." This loud, messy, cuddly, warm world of love. And also diapers.
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