Checking In

Oh, hi! Remember me? Yes, the wayward blogger. Big on promises to share stories from my life, not so big on delivery. I'm new at this and I do have two full time jobs in real life. We're cool, right? Good.

One reason I've been blogquiet lately is that things have been very busy at home and work. I've also been feeling pretty gross and NO one wants to hear about that. Trust me. You do? Really? Can we just leave it at "scheduled colonoscopy"? Thanks.

It's also occurred to me that one reason for starting this blog was that I wanted to share details of our adventures/experiences as tag team parents and I haven't really done that. I hesitate to write about it now because I don't have a lot of good things to say. I don't want to scare anyone away from tag team parenting, but I guess I should be honest about it so that if you're thinking about doing it then you can go in with good information. Bottom line: tag team parenting sucks. Hard.

After the bug was born, we jumped into the ring feet first, fists pumping, determined to show all the nay sayers that it COULD be done and that we weren't crazy to take it on. We did that. The first few months were awful but after a while we hit our stride and everything worked nearly seamlessly. There were misunderstandings and miscommunications, I was tired all the time and seemed to catch every cold that went around but generally we did ok.

Then the schedule changed and everything went to hell.

If you're thinking about tag team parenting, let me urge you this: make sure you and your spouse have at least one day off together. It makes a huge difference. When I started working weekends (Not by choice. No fucking way.) it put an end to any adult time for the Grinch and I. No conversations, no movies, no cuddling. Is it any surprise that I got pregnant BEFORE the schedule change?

Working weekends also put an end to any "me" time. No workouts, no pedicures, no gardening, nada. I'm either at work, parenting or asleep. It's exhausting. Never mind the stupid hours.

When I went back to work after maternity leave for Bug, I cried on the way to work every day for a week because I was leaving this beautiful little baby who I loved so much and how could I leave herohmygoodness. This time around, I started crying two weeks before my return to work and pretty much haven't stopped crying since. Not only because of the beautiful baby factor, but "good lord I hate working overnights and never seeing my husband and it's been so nice seeing him and being a real family and I wish I could stay at home waaaaaahhhhhh. sniff."

I find myself aching to see Grinch, to get the chance to fall asleep in his lap again or nuzzle his neck. I want to spend quiet time reading to the Bug or putting her to bed instead of rushing off to bed myself. I want to feel rested more than one day a week. I want to feel like I have my act together instead of feeling like I'm a frazzled, barely washed, bumbling idiot. Harupmh. Want, want, want.

There are good reasons we do the tag team parenting thing. But I wonder if there are better reasons NOT to.

Making Happy

Do you know Bossy? Bossy has a most excellent blog. Bossy is hilarious, has fabulous hair and a really cute teenaged son (who is way too young for me or my friends, but still. Cute. And smart!).

Bossy recently asked her readers to sum up in 10 words what's been going on in their lives. Here is my comment:

"Ate chocolate. Nursed baby. Chased toddler. Cried. Didn't sleep. Worked."

And that, my friends, pretty much sums up my life for the past two and a half years. Except the crying part. I haven't cried EVERY day. MOST but not EVERY. I probably laugh more than I cry, thanks to friends like Laura and the Moms and the general silliness that comes from the Bug but this has been a rough week.

I listen to friends and acquaintances complain about the slow delivery of their new laptops or super-sized TVs. They fume about how TIVO messed up and didn't record LOST. They sigh plaintively about how hard life is what with dropping the kids off at daycare and having to go get manicures and shop. I listen to this, purse my lips and nod blankly. What I really want to do is climb on top of them, dig my knees into their chests, jab at their noses and scream, "YOU DON'T KNOW HARD!"

I think of my four hours of sleep a night. My frazzled nerves. My anxieties about work. The stack of books that looks like I'll never read. The laundry that needs to be done. The groceries that haven't been bought. The relationships that are suffering because I'm always tired and cranky and have no time to spare for lunches or parties or simple conversations. The fear that keeps me from quitting my job and committing to my family the way I really want.

I think of all this and remind myself: I have a job. My eyes work and I can read. I have a home and money to buy groceries. My husband and friends are wonderfully patient people. I made a choice about work and home and I can change it. Frankly, I really don't know hard either.

Hard is losing your home or your marriage. Losing your child. Hard is struggling with illness. Hard is not having anyone to turn to. We all think we have it hard until we meet someone who has it harder.

"Count your blessings" is what my parents used to tell me. It's not easy. It's not easy when all you want to do is sleep and cry and punch pillows. It's not easy when you believe that you can acutally feel the weight of your decisions bearing down on your shoulders. It's not easy when it seems like everyone around you gets exactly what they need and want and never suffer. But we all suffer. Everyone does to varying degrees and we all show it differently.

I don't want to feel better because someone feels worse than me. I want to feel better because I choose to. I can feel better and even if I don't right now, I will. I will feel better because I will make things better.

Decisions, Decisions

I'm really, really bad at making decisions. REALLY bad. For the most part, my decisions usually turn out to be good ones, but its taken me forever and a day to reach my conclusion and act on it. Also, the really bad decisions haunt you. Mine sound like my mother, "Well, remember what happened the last time you...."

I'm really struggling with the decision to become a stay-at-home mom or go back to work. Actually, the decision has pretty much been made, it's acting on it that's freaking me out. I've made some moves, placed some calls, but nothing is formal. No, I'm not telling you. Not yet, anyway. Dude, I didn't tell anyone I was pregnant 'till I was six-months along. You think I'm gonna bust out a major life change on the internet just like that. Come oooooonnnnn. You gotta know me better than that.

I will say that my decision making process always involves a lot of talking to and with friends, polling them about similar decisions they've made, asking for advice and guidance. I have to say: this time around, I've received some of the best advice, and been lent the most sympathetic, compassionate ears ever known. If you're one of those people who's listened to me whine, vent and cry over this, Thank You. If I haven't done it already, I hope to be as good a friend to you one day.

In other news, Dos is snugglier than ever. She's sleeping in her bassinet more and more, which means Grinch may actually be able to sleep in our bed again one day. Bug is finally over the creeping crud, or toddler Ebola or whatever it was she had. Grinch is over it, too, though you wouldn't know it from his coughing, moaning, and vitamin C popping. (Love you, honey! Smooches!)

Also, I told two close friends that I have a blog, but they didn't ask for the URL and I didn't offer so I still have exactly two readers and why does that surprise me? Duh. This explains why I am not in sales. I'll bet I couldn't sell Girl Scout Cookies.
Wealthy Aunt or Uncle: "I wonder where I can buy some Thin Mints."
Me: "I'm a Girl Scout."
Wealthy Aunt or Uncle: "Oh, really?"
Me: "Yes."
Wealthy Aunt or Uncle: "Mmm, hmm."


Finally, I went to the doctor and she says I'm okie dokie. I even broke down crying in front of her over this decision stress. She patted my leg, passed me some tissues and was very sympathetic, but the Post Partum Depression issue never came up. Did I ask about it? Hell, no. Why? Because after working in a pharmacy for a dozen years, I grew wary of people who came in with scrips for ailments they didn't seem to really have. Happy pills was all they wanted. Plus, of all the people I know who take anti-depressants (and strangely, I know a LOT), none of them seem particularly happy to me. So Prozac, Lexapro, Paxil and all the others can claim to make people feel better, but their walking, talking advertisements convince me otherwise. I'm sure it works for some people, but I haven't seen it yet.

Ruminating

We're still talking about our tag team status and nothing has been decided. Remember what I said about us being master procrastinators in this house? Yeah, it's for real.

More and more I'm thinking that I could and should become a stay at home mom. I don't have the passion for my work that I once did. The hours can be a killer. Maternity leave has given me a chance to get reacquainted with the best husband in the world. I'm learning to love the time I spend at home with the Bug and Dos is finally starting to emerge from the squirmy-sleep-all-the-time-not-much-fun infant stage.

BUT....I've been earning my own money since I was 14. I've been working on my career since I was 17. I've been in my current job for 10 years. I've been in the industry for 20. I have a fantastic retirement plan and good benefits. I really, really, really like my team at work. That kind of stuff makes it hard to just pick up and walk away. Makes it hard for me, anyway.

The only person to comment on my last question opined that I might be suffering from post-partum depression. Don't think it hasn't occurred to me, too. I see my doctor on Monday. I'll try to work up the courage to say something then. I'm a chicken though, and I don't want to whine. I also don't want to look for a pill to solve all my problems. Ok, this subject is a whole 'nother post.

Dos is stirring in the swing. Bug is sniffling from a bad cold but reading quietly to herself in her bed. Grinch has gone to his parent's house to convalesce (they're out of town, so he can moan and groan in peace) He's caught a nasty case of the bug's creeping crud. This is a tough day, but I'm ok. Everyone has survived through nap time and that's all I can ask. We'll get through the afternoon, evening and do it all over again tomorrow. One day at a time.

Trying....Really, Really Trying

I now know why my mom was always so crabby and tired looking. She had SEVEN kids to look after. I have two and daily I have to stop myself from driving to the airport, going to the Delta counter and saying, "I don't care where it goes. I don't care how much it costs. The next flight out? Put me on it."

I don't know why it's so hard. The girls are healthy and relatively happy. I say relatively because I don't really know how happy the bug is after a day of being snapped at by me. Sometimes she deserves it. Usually she doesn't. I try so hard not to snap, but it happens anyway. "NO! Do NOT do that! Er! Argh! Bah!"

Trying to keep the bug entertained one cold, rainy morning last week, I got out the paints and paintbrushes. She was in heaven and occupied for 20 whole minutes! Awesome! She moved on to fingerpainting! Fantastic! Until....she found out how cool it sounds when paint covered hands are squished together. Cool to a two-year-old. To Mommy's sleep deprived, over stressed, likely depressed, anxious ears it sounded REALLY FUCKING ANNOYING.

I tried to ride it out. "She's exploring her world. She's exploring her world." I told myself over and over again. Gritted my teeth. Clamped my eyes shut. Hummed "Shoot that Poison Arrow" over and over again. I couldn't take it. "BUG! STOPIT! Argh!" She was surprised, but nodded with a knowing look. ("Yes....mommy is dangerously close to an act of violence. I shall reluctantly, but wisely, end this task post-haste.")

I feel like a horrible person because I can't seem to get the hang of this. A baby needs my attention. So does a toddler. I help one and the other cries or accidentally destroys something. It seems so easy for other moms. And I feel like I'm doing it all so wrong that I shouldn't be doing it at all.