I’ve been contemplating what I want to say here for a couple days now. It seems every time that I analyze my parenting abilities it comes off to other people as accusatory and critical of their parenting abilities. That is not my intention here. My intention is to simply be honest about what I’m going through and how I’m feeling and how I’m processing what I think I should be doing with what I’m actually getting done.
So week two, Stephen went back to work. Much of the week I felt I was barely keeping my head above water.
We only managed to get out of our pajamas once and that was due to the fact that I had an appointment one morning with my doctor (Rash update: Despite antihistamines and steroid creams, it spread over my whole body, but today was finally the first day that I was not completely consumed by the need to scratch. As such, it looks like I’m finally going to be in the clear on this thing. Whew!). Also on that day, since we were all dressed, I decided to brave Target with both kids. One hundred dollars worth of random stuff later (some that I actually planned to buy, some not really), I survived.
Stephen got a cold and stayed home sick on Wednesday. The kids picked up the cold on Friday, but then it seemed to not be bothersome yesterday and came back with vengeance today. I was really determined to get out of the house and make it to church for the first time in well over a month though and was unwilling to admit that they were sick until we were in Ventura in the chuch parking lot with Stephen telling me that there was no way we could go in and leave Bean in the nursery because she had the most disgusting snotty nose accompanied by sneezing, coughing and that stuffed up sound about her. Still, everyone seems to be handling their symptoms in stride. And we spent the day at the Channel Islands Harbor instead.
I did manage to cook dinner four nights this week.
I’ve had to utter the phrase, “I’m only one Mommy,” entirely too much. It breaks my heart often that I can’t do everything and be everything to everyone.
Sprout makes the challenges I thought I was facing with Bean seem like a cakewalk. I guess she was my chance at an easy baby. Bigger babies are supposed to be easier and sleep better, right? Um, yeah in this case not so much. Particularly when said baby is gassy and refluxy all the time. I’ve figured out that part of the problem is in nursing. I’m calling the pediatrician’s office tomorrow to see if they have a lactation consultant they can recommend. It really is that bad. He also pretty much refuses to be put down almost all the time. And this isn’t a slightly fussy kind of he can cry it out and be OK thing he does. We’re talking full on red-faced, nearly hyperventilating hysterics that sometimes turn into a coughing and gagging fit within a couple seconds.
Because of this, I constantly question whether I’m doing a good job with Bean. I guess I just kind of felt like when I was finally not pregnant and feeling gross and uncomfortable that she would get her Mommy back. And that really isn’t the case.
Everything we do these days seems like a constant rush. Getting frustrated over her slow eating because I’m on a ticking time bomb schedule for how long Sprout can last in the swing. Not being able to give my full attention as she points to everything thing in sight to ask for its name because I’m trying to comfort the baby that won’t stop screaming.
When I put her down for a nap I simultaneously miss her and feel relieved that there is only one tiny person on me, needing me, taking from me.
Yesterday, even with Stephen here, just using the bathroom felt like a luxury.
I knew this would be a challenge. I knew it would be hard. Heck, once I started showing, I couldn’t go anywhere without at least one person commenting that I had or was going to have my hands full. I just don’t think anything could have completely prepared me for what lay ahead.
I know I’ll get through it. I know this is just a season. Everyone in similar predicaments says when the youngest is about two years old they become the best of friends and life is just peachy. Most days, two seems quite a ways off though and I’m counting down the minutes until 6pm when Stephen gets home from work.