Dear Reality,
Why are you hitting me so hard? It is only Day 5 and I feel like it should be Day 15. Things have happened here that could make a quasi-sane mother of two pack up the car, drive to California, drop the Ladies off on the hallowed greens of Pebble Beach, get back in the car and hit Vegas hard.
I think the only thing that is keeping me going is those few seconds every morning that the Lady opens up another door on her Advent Calender and I know that I am one day closer to my husband walking up those f'ing stairs. To be honest, my everyday schedule isn't that different from when he is home. I still work two days, I still hang with the Ladies on the others. It is just those moments at night when the day is clearly done and I am clearly done and the Ladies are clearly not done that are making me throw myself a pity party and have made me, literally cry.
It might be easier if I didn't feel like crap. If my nose wasn't stuffed up and I wasn't going through tissue after tissue. It might be easier if the Little Lady felt better. It might be easier if the Lady would just go to sleep in her own bed.
Oh, reality. Why? Why? Why?
Why have you shown me great days (oh, Day 2 how far away you seem) and terrible days (Um, Day 4 we are in a huge fight) like some ghost of Christmas Past? Why have you made is so abundantly clear that I do not have it together and that these Ladies can cause a reckoning?
Here is a quick (sort of--if I put everything is this would be a two hour therapy session) recap of our last few days:
Day 2: Dropped off the Little Lady with my mom and the Wild Woman and hopped on a train to NYC in our sparkle shoes. Met up with my best friend and the Lady's best friend and were charmed by the wonder of Mary Poppins. Not so charmed by the guy behind me who picked up his cell phone in the middle of it or by the fact that the Lady felt it necessary to sit on my lap the entire time, but it was super cool when Mary Poppins flew right over our seats (I could see her bloomers!) We made our way out of the theatre past block long lines at Toys R Us and the Disney Store and through what was quite possibly the biggest crowd I have ever been a part of to get a glimpse at a tree. We headed back on the train and I ended our day, carrying two bundled up Ladies up the stairs.
Day 3: My SIL came by in the morning and watched the Ladies while I went food shopping. I was so drunk with the freedom of that hour and fifteen minutes that I decided to pick up a hot chocolate on the way home. I went to the Dunkies drive in, took my money out of my wallet and proceeded to drive right past the little speaker. Clearly, my mommy-mind was melting. That night the Lady informed me that she did not want to sleep in her bed. Instead of having her throw a tantrum in her room and risk waking up the Little Lady, I let her lay on the couch. She wanted all the lights off. Normally, this wouldn't be too big of a deal, except the place was wrecked, and I had work to do, which the Lady informed me I could do by our electric candles and the light from the computer. When her father finally called a little after eight. I was on the edge. When the Lady started crying and telling her dad that she missed him and wanted him to come home, I started crying. She also informed him that she didn't want to sleep in her bed because there were alligators and a snake scratched her leg. Needless to say, the work was put away and I retired to my room at 8:15.
Day 4: Oh Dark Day. This day actually started out ok. I realized that I had a Moms Club meeting, which meant the girls had a playdate, I had some adult conversation time, hot beverages and a nice snack. After the meeting we went to the Lady's school to pick up our Christmas wreath and they served some hot cider. So far so good. . . The Little Lady feel asleep in the car and transferred well into her bed. The Lady had some independent play time and I got some work done. All was well at 1:00. We were looking forward to the pj and pizza Santa sing-along party that evening at 5:00 and getting a chance to meet Santa. What I was ill-prepared for was the Little Lady taking a tumble down 13 stairs. There is nothing, nothing, like the sound of your one-year-old falling down a wood staircase to make you run faster then you probably ever have before. She was crying, I was crying. Things could have been so much worse. After a quick once-over, I realized she was more scared then hurt. She was crying, breathing and nothing seemed bruised or broken. Yes, this was totally my fault. I shouldn't have left them alone upstairs why I went down to get them something to drink. The gate was up, but the gate isn't that great and the Little Lady can get over it if she really tries. She also thinks she can walk down stairs. Ugh. So, with a great deal of mommy guilt, I watched over her for the rest of the night. She was dancing and moving at the Santa sing-along, she wasn't acting off or odd in anyway. This however, didn't stop me from worrying about her, so when I heard her stir at 3 am, I decided she should come down and sleep with me. You know what they say about waking a sleeping baby? It still applies when they are one. The Little Lady could not get comfortable, she would pop up every 10 minutes or so, point at the TV and say "Melmo." She was at various points sleeping next to me, on top of me, in my armpit and across my face. At 4:50 I decided that I had enough and that she probably had too. Back to her bed she went until 7 am, when I heard her little voice call my name. Don't even get me started on the Lady and her bedtime issues. . .
Day 5: Is it bad that I am happy to be at work?
So Realty, please try to go easy on me for the next week or so, I am not feeling great, I am already consumed by guilt and there have been two nights of freezing cold weather when I had to get both Ladies into the house.
Just give me a pass today, and maybe tomorrow. Help me to remember that if he could be home, my husband would be (well, maybe just home sooner) and that these Ladies and I can make do with each other. Let's just avoid any more stair incidents and let's try to limit the temper tantrums.
Love and kisses,
Bean
No comments:
Post a Comment