i surrender. i’m sitting at my computer eating cookie dough while my tuna-boy gets a bath from his dad.
the day started out badly–only three hours of sleep. both kids spent the night crying. they secretly planned beforehand to tag team it: as one fell asleep, the other would start to wail. then i spent the morning bleary-eyed, making those pesky insurance phone calls. (my thirty days grace is nearly up.) to inagurate the problem of getting her some sort of medical coverage, violet threw up and pooped all over herself. so, i decided to give her a bath.
i filled the baby bath up and left it on the kitchen counter. while changing her diaper i heard the scoot of a kitchen chair. i arrived with naked baby to find that henry had dumped all of our dirty silverware from the sink into the baby bath. deep breath. i gave the baby a bath anyway, putting henry on the floor with strict instructions not to touch the water or the bath or the baby or anything, really. once back in the bedroom putting clothes on the little one, i could hear the scoot of the chair and the sound of the faucet. the only problem with this picture? (besides the obvious ones.) henry can’t reach the faucet.
so. i had one naked baby. i had me and my little incontinence problem. (the sound of running water and i’m hopeless–i have about 4 nanoseconds to find a bathroom, or else.) i couldn’t decide what to tackle first. i threw a hasty diaper on violet and ran to the kitchen to find henry hanging with both hands from the kitchen faucet, his feet dangling and him whispering, “oh no.” [did i mention that this entire scenario happened with me "airing out," as it were a certain, nursing part that's been blistering and festering and generally tending toward open wounds?]
i wish it ended there.
but henry opened his tuna sandwich at lunch and spread it in his hair. i banished him from lunch and sat at the kitchen table crying. he saw his window of opportunity: he took all the folded laundry and shook each piece before throwing it around the room.
as you can guess, i really really needed him to take a nap. a nice long nap. but, fate against me, he slept for 45 minutes (all of which were spent feeding violet) before waking up in a scream.
and that, my friends, is why i surrender. i throw in the towel. i give up. i give in. i’d give anything really, to have an afternoon in the mountains next to a trickling brook–no kids for at least a hundred miles. no one to dump things on the floor or tell me “no way” or kick me in the chest.
of course, that also means there would be no hugs with pats. no little voice telling me “otay” when i suggest a story or a trip to the park. no delicious smile as hal climbs a snowbank and says, “i so tall.” no cuddling on the beanbag chair reading about deedee the mouse. no dimples. no songs. no gasp of delight at the sound of a train.
i imagine it would be very very quiet.
me too. to all of it.
i remember asking in prayer day after day- “please can i have a baby?”
and now its a little ironic that i ask in prayer day after day- “please can i just have the baby sleep for a long, long time, long enough that when they wake up i am surprised to hear a baby crying?”
i am sure we will miss these days of holding our little ones, but that’s what grand kids are for right?
i also have prayed day after day, “please can i get appendicitis?” because, just think about it, i really could use 2 days of rest in my own room, a nurse at my becking call, food i don’t have to cook. and the obvious, no diapers, or crying, or yelling, or hitting, or screaming,or spilling, or shoving, or anything. just tapioca and silence.
Oh man, Jessie, I totally know what you mean and had a day close to that one yesterday, but I could never describe it like you do. And then I have a day like today and I think being a mom is wonderful. Thanks for putting it so eloquently, I could just picture you walking in on Henry whispering “oh no”, priceless. I hope your today is going better too!
Oh no Jessie that is some story!
It gets better having two, I promise. Not like an afternoon in the mountains next to a trickling brook, but better. It gets better after the first six weeks. And better again after the first three months. And better again after six months. And then even better after a year. Though I do miss my cuddly baby who now has only about a mili-second to spare for a hug or cuddle….
You have sufficiently lodged the terror (and the joy) of motherhood deep into my (sympathetically hurting) bosom. Blistering? Seriously? oooooooo…..
Hey Jessie! I hope you don’t mind that I’m commenting; Kate introduced me to your delightful site.
Although the mountain and trickling brook might be hard to supply around here, and it would probably be frozen even if there were one, an afternoon off isn’t completely out of the question once in a while. Time to catch my breath was very important to me during the sleep-deprivation marathon that came after the marathon called birth (and I can still only imagine–quite vividly thanks to you
–what having two kids in the equation is like). So if you need a little mountain brook time…I need to repay you for feeding Rich delicious cheese when he was starving (when I asked what he was eating while alone, he raved about the Wensleydale he had at your house–and feared that he made a pig of himself).
I just wish I were a better friend and could get my big booty out of my house to come save you. I think about it while I sit on my couch and watch Cars, yet I just keep sitting there. I hope you still love me…
[...] to wit’s end today was a day kind of like this one. i woke up attempting perkiness. (we had a hard day yesterday too.) i got the kids into the car for [...]