The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

Today has been one of those marathon days. You know, the kind that lags on and on and on – and on….where you find that your lower back is aching from doing the limbo somewhere between laughter and tears. Bitzy was up all night with a fever. Well, let me rephrase – she had a fever and was up all night nursing. Seriously, I played the role of pacifier. Which, of course, means that I was also up all night. Did I mention all night?

This morning started off way too early and with DJ’s favorite soundtrack on full blast. What’s her favorite soundtrack, you ask? VeggieTales? Princess Theme Songs? Rockabye Baby? Oh no, all good guesess of course – but to rescue you from the suspense…her favorite soundtrack is that of her own whining, crying, tantrum’ing voice. So that was fun. For an hour.

Anyhow, we eventually made our way to the doctor’s office for Bitzy to get checked out since she’s been exposed to strep. Luckily, by the time we got to the waiting room, the girls were BFF’s again, and DJ had been forgiven of her very loud transgressions.

Awww.

The honeymoon ended at about the same second Bitzy’s doctor swabbed her red and blistered throat with that gigantic q-tip. So, naturally, the girls got milkshakes for lunch.

This was an awesome plan considering it was just noon by the time we got home from In N Out. They’d drink their milkshakes, and with satisfied bellies and numb throats – they’d get into bed nice and early in the afternoon and take solid naps.  Me too.  Yep, awesome plan. In theory. Had there not been sugar in the milkshakes.

Fast forward an hour, and they are doing WWF reenactments on the bed. For reals. Jumping, flipping, bouncing and grunting from physical exhaustion. I sent them both to their respective corners, doused them with water (figuratively, of course) and ordered them to chill out. That didn’t work. Weird.

So I strapped them into the Double BOB, and set out on a walk. It was my fool-proof plan. They always fall asleep on walks when they’re tired. And, being their super wise and attune mother, I was right. Bitzy fell asleep – for all of 7 minutes. Considering that we walked for a sweaty 40 minutes, the sleep to exercise ratio didn’t exactly scream “SUCCESS!” Although, my glutes were stoked in a frenemy sorta way.

Back to bed with two deliriously overtired girls I go. And….back to the drawing board, too. Restless kids, making a wrestling comeback.  Ok, “Into the car. Now.” A good ol’ drive would surely do the trick. We headed North on Highway 280, and once we hit Black Mountain Rd, Bitzy was finally asleep. And once we passed Black Mountain Road, someone from the backseat piped out, “Mommy, I have to poop.” Seriously?

So, my apologies Dear Residents of Hillsborough, but this is where we pulled over.

But don’t worry, I cleaned up afterwards.

And you’re welcome for that, because the aroma of Preschool Poop surely enhanced the charm of such a delightful afternoon. It was about the time that I slammed my thumb in my car door that Bitzy woke up. Which was, of course, immediately after cleaning up the poop. So, that was a long nap.

With both girls awake, we headed home. Once home, and an Acetaminophen suppository later (because Bitzy pukes up oral medication), we plopped on the couch and I willingly obliged to bending all of my rules. A movie before bed, and dinner at the coffee table. Sometimes, when rules are made, survival isn’t taken into account.

Is it bedtime yet?

Lately, my life feels like a scene right out of the 1983 classic “A Christmas Story.”   You know, the one with Ralphie and the Red Ryder BB Gun?  Anyhow, there’s a dinner scene where Ralphie’s mom gets up from the table a dozen times – serving second helpings, getting milk, remembering silverware, etc.  As she’s bustling around the kitchen while her family eats, the narrator says, “My mother had not had a hot meal FOR HERSELF in 15 years.”

I think that life with a two year old is just a composition of scenes from different movies.  Some days, it feels like a tragedy, others like a thriller – but mostly, like a classic comedy.  Sure, there are days when the developing vocabulary of my kid is enough to turn my face red – but, when it really comes down to it, it’s fun to watch her budding wit spew from her otherwise sweet lips.

Let’s take last week, for example.  We were in the craft store and DJ wiggled free from my arms and began running away from me – just far enough in front of me that I couldn’t grab her (and just fast enough that I actually had to run after her).  All the while we’re playing this game of chase, I am saying things like “STOP,” “NO,” “LISTEN TO ME,” “DO NOT MOVE.”  I am, of course, barking these orders sternly yet very, very quietly as we’re in public.  After a full lap around the aisles, I finally catch her – at the very front of the store by the registers, no less.  I pick her up, and before I can utter a single word, DJ waves her tiny index finger in my face, and says “No Mommy, people watching you.”  I died laughing, and yet another vignette was written in our book of toddler antics.

I try really hard to be a step ahead of DJ.  I try to anticipate what her mood is, what her wants and needs will be, what she might think is funny, or cool, or scary.  I try to be prepared.  And, as a result, my car looks like a looted toy store (a hodgepodge of random things thrown together in total disarray), and my energy level is close to nil.

This is true at every.single.meal time.  I will think that I am totally prepared…plate of warm food, check.  Napkin, check.  Fork, check. Sparkly cup full of water, check.  And, just like clockwork – DJ will inevitably want the lasagna cut into smaller pieces (as she now says, “teeny tiny baby pieces”), she will want a “big one,” when referring to the choose-your-own-size paper towel, she will prefer the pink fork over the red one, and will request ice cubes in her water.  Like a puppet, there I will be jumping up and down half a dozen times to keep the peace and ensure our otherwise birdish eater, actually eats.  Once I finally sit down, I will likely realize that I never brought my husband a knife, or got myself something to drink.

That’s life as a mom.  Even the movies say so.

I haven’t officially announced this through my blog yet, but I’m pregnant!  Yahoo!!!  I’m 11 weeks closer to the finish line of that 40-week marathon.  We are totally thrilled – and scared, and anxious, and excited.  In fact, I probably should dedicate an entire blog to this topic, as it’s pretty loaded!  But, for now, what I’ll say is that I am exhausted.  Like, crazy exhausted.  Oh, and I have been puking at least twice a day for the past five weeks – which is divine.  Anyhow, all that is to say that I cherish the moments when I get to put my feet up.  But, they are in fact, just moments.  As soon as I get comfy and elevate my little (sometimes swollen) piggies, without fail, DJ pulls herself up onto the couch to get in my face with some grand idea – like “Outside, Mommy!”

But sometimes, when I’m really lucky, she climbs up to my lap and plants a gentle kiss right on my shoulder and snuggles in close.  Those are the moments that make the daily aerobics of our parenting lives totally worth the sweat (and on some occasions, blood and tears).

My husband just got back into town from being away on business for a week. He was in India – so when I say he was away, he was really away. He was 12 ½ hours ahead of us, starting his new day when DJ and I were frantically trying to finish ours. And let me tell you….I have a whole new respect for single parents.

When you are the sole provider, entertainer, chef, chauffeur, story-teller, diaper changer, tantrum extinguisher, etc – life gets exhausting. I was exhausted. Wait, I mean, I am exhausted…still. It was one of those rare weeks where I thought that having a full time job outside of the home sounded utterly glamorous. As a stay-at-home mom, I am already up to my eyeballs in all-things-kid, so not having another adult to interact with on a daily basis pretty much left me puking Elmo….figuratively, of course.

Last night, after my husband had been home for just over 24 hours, DJ decided to have an epic breakdown. I am certain she was beyond tired, ridiculously hot, emotionally drained and certainly picking up on her parent’s weariness. It was, of course, at the same time my husband left the house to run some errands. Lucky me, after seven days of solo fits, my kid waited again till I was alone to unleash her fury. I tried almost everything in my arsenal to get her to stop, short of putting on clown shoes – but only because I don’t actually own clown shoes – good thing, right? At my wits end, I marched to the freezer, pulled out a grape popsicle, hoisted her up onto our bed, and let her slurp away. Yes, I said “grape popsicle” and “bed” in the same sentence. Did I also mention the solid white duvet?

In those drippy, sticky, messy moments, I realized that sometimes we take the easy way out in parenting. Sometimes the battles we choose not to fight are the holes in our consistency that our children pine for. They are the moments when they realize that Mommy might have weakness, the moments when they get one up on us and forever recall that the rules can be bent. They are the times when our children see us as human, they see us let down, give in, and devour some ill-achieved peace.and.quiet. For crying out loud….some peace and quiet.

Or, maybe they are the moments that draw our children in even closer to us. They are the memories that our children will share with their first teacher about a special time they recall spending with us. “One day when I was in a bad mood, my mommy let me eat a popsicle in her bed.”

I can’t believe I am even going to admit this – but I am reminded of something (the only intelligent thing) that Vicky of the Real Housewives of Orange County said in a finale show not too long ago…..something about how when people break down and cry, and when they become vulnerable and ditch their tough exterior that real relationships can begin and grow. I truly believe that to be true for the friendships in my life, so why wouldn’t the same be true with our children?

We don’t always have to be the “Rule Enforcenator. “ (Yes, poor taste to inert an Arnoldism here). Sometimes, we can be the burnt-out woman (or man) who will do anything to make it just a few more hours till bedtime. And, that’s OK. We forgive ourselves, we move on, and we know without a doubt that we’re doing an amazing job raising these animals….um, I mean, lovely children.

OK, I have now written and re-written this blog entry three times – and even managed a nap somewhere in between.  I am struggling for a decent topic, one that I feel even remotely passionate about.  I’ve considered sharing the conversation we had with friends over the weekend about knowing when the right time is to try for baby #2 (and just to put your curious mind at rest – we aren’t anywhere near ready!).  I’ve thought about discussing my insecurities regarding the few extra pounds that I haven’t been able to shed since DJ’s birth, almost eleven (inexcusable) months ago.  I’ve even set out on a rant about DJ’s interrupted sleep and horrific mood due to another round of teething.  But, the truth is, I don’t feel like any of these things are all that important.

So, what is important to share?  Well, I’m tired.  Really, really tired.  This motherhood thing is getting more and more challenging by the day – which is likely why the rewards are also getting steeper (DJ is now giving kisses).  As DJ grows, so does her temperament, her independence, even her opinion.  She is turning into a little KID – not so much a “baby” anymore.  She is sassy, sweet, creative and quite funny.  She is everything that I really hoped she’d be – I just didn’t know how exhausting it would be to keep up with her budding personality.

I am learning that even the best moms – even the moms who were born to be moms – have their breaking point.  I am learning that it’s OK to wave the white flag and ask for help.  Almost a year into this, I am realizing that admitting you can’t do it alone isn’t declaring that you love your child any less.  And, it certainly isn’t saying that you’re not cut out for this role after all, either.  What it is saying is that you’re human – and there’s nothing wrong with that!  It takes a village, right?

How did things get to this point?  When did I subscribe to society’s lie that moms HAVE to do it all?  I mean, sure, we ARE capable of juggling a child, a partner, a house, a few cats, etc. – but is that really the badge of honor we’re willing to risk losing our minds in an effort to achieve?  Not me.

DJ deserves my best.  I will never be at my best when I am stretched too thin.  The only way for me to keep myself in tact is to depend on others for help.  Last week, I invited my mom over to hang out with DJ while I did some work and caught up on life in general.  It was a win win for all parties…..I got to check some things off the list keeping me awake at night, my mom got some quality time with her favorite person, and DJ got someone’s undivided and well-rested attention.  At the end of the day, DJ didn’t love me any less – and believe it or not, NO ONE sent me an email or left me a message that I was any less of a mom, or woman, for having asked for help.

I’ve got to believe that somewhere along the line, even Wonder Woman removed her bullet-proof bracelets to give those wrists a rest.