I haven't been around here much lately and that's because when the going gets tough I tend not to blog about it. I've always meant for this blog to be more baby book than mom confessional and I've written it with the intent that one day Delaney (and now Waylon) will be able to read it. But that leaves me with no place to be fully honest, no place to air my dirty laundry, no place to let loose about what's really going on in the trenches of my parenting boot camp. I certainly don't want to leave my kids with the impression that their childhood and my years of on-the-job training as a parent were all kisses and lollipops but I also don't want to detail, here, the really ugly, sometimes scary, messy stuff that they may wish I'd kept private.
But today, the stink comes off. The laundry gets aired out. I'm starting to crack and I have to get this out. I'm not enjoying motherhood very much right now. It's not the first time I've ever felt this way (obviously) and it won't be the last (evidently). It's not something every other mother out there hasn't felt before. I'm not unique in feeling this way. But man, does it suck.
These feelings stem mostly from the wretchedly terrible, seemingly unending period of sibling rivalry angst that causes Delaney to hurt her brother and others with very little remorse for her inexcusable actions. She's also unbelievably defiant and uncontrollable and it's so difficult to be around her right now. Is this what Three is all about, I ask myself. Or are our issues with her larger than those of the average pissed off tot?
I'm also feeling detached from Roger. He works hard all week and then has to work all weekend too as we try to get our house ready to sell. We never get to see each other or spend fun time alone together and I'm sure that the stress we're under is also making him feel dragged down and empty too.
In addition to all that, I've sunken to a new low in the "taking care of myself" department. I'm not exercising or eating right. And because I can't exactly drink my stress away I've been eating one (or four) too many donuts instead, knowing it's wrong but still feeling like I deserve some small (large?), guilty pleasure.
OK. This is all very, "Woe is me!" Look, I know this time is precious and fleeting. My kids will only be this young once and I should treasure every minute. I know other people have worse problems than me and trust me, I'm grateful for all that I have. I know I shouldn't complain about any of this because I wanted kids and I am very lucky to have them. And I do love them to pieces. But still, I'm not having much fun or feeling at all like myself right now.
I feel haggard and dragged down and just plain spent at the end of each day, never feeling like I actually accomplished anything other than keeping the kids fed and bathed and keeping Delaney from harming her baby brother. Is it wrong to want more out of life than that? To want to enjoy reading again, to date my husband, to get regular haircuts, to visit with friends and reclaim a little part of the me I seem to have left behind in that operating room four months ago? Or am I being overly dramatic because caring for two little kids simply is a difficult business fraught with defiance and outbursts and poop, lots of poop, but it all passes eventually (and much too quickly upon reflection)? Do I need to just chill out and stop bitching and be grateful for everything I have? Or is it OK to kvetch and moan about the things stewing inside me right now, recognizing and then releasing the negative so it doesn't stay in and fester?