When Parents Really ARE Crazy

On days like today, I think to myself, “you really ARE crazy.”

I woke up shortly after 5am, to Leif having a bloody nose.  He wakes up in a way that there are no words to describe.  I think my mom called it “a cannonball.”  That’s pretty good imagery.  

My children don’t sleep.  Neither of them did.  DJ does now that he is 11, but sleep was always a constant battle.  I’ve read The No Cry Sleep Solution.  I use teas, herbs, detox baths, essential oils, etc.  

This kid still only sleeps 10 hours maximum, which is on the low side of average.  He naps intermittently.  

And, so, this morning, the cannonball was not going back to sleep.  

I made my coffee, put on our rain gear, and took him to the greenway.  We walked for a little over an hour before the fits started rolling in.  At approximately the same time, I had a small bout of nausea as he was screaming, “CARRY ME, MOMMY!”

When he started screaming that the rain was getting in his eyes, I conceded, and carried him back to the car.  

Here it is, nap time for ME, at least, and he isn’t having ANY of it.  

This morning on our rainy walk as the sun rose, my husband said, half-jokingly, “Did you see that article on ‘Have a third kid if…'”

“No,” I said.  I don’t look on the internet much, although it may appear that I do.  Usually it is intermittent scrambles as I’m choking down tea or coffee and trying to not think for a split second in the middle of my day.

“Have a third kid if you’re crazy.  Have a third kid if you hate sleep.  Have a third kid if you don’t like having time for yourself.  Have a third kid if you don’t like having money.”  And then he laughed, quite pleased with himself.

That’s all you can do, really.  Laugh or cry, or better yet, do both.  

My house is a wreck and the midwife is coming next week.  I’m trying to strategize in my head how best to clean it over the weekend while managing a toddler.  Do I forego sleep?  Do I let him “help?”  Do I send him and dad away and do it all myself?

If I’m honest with myself, I realize my husband does a better job of cleaning.  He totally has one upped me in his housewife game on that one.  I love it too.  Cleaning is my arch nemesis.  

Then I’m like, well, Leif, DJ, and I could do something together all weekend.  I immediately feel exhausted.  I miss my housekeeper.  

Nap isn’t happening, because God forbid you rest enough to have joy in this world.  Is this some sort of strange in born trait?  Do some people think, “In this lifetime I shall scream at the top of my lungs because my milk glass isn’t FULL TO THE TOP and completely disregard the real reason for my upset: exhaustion.”

So I sit here, staring at my husband working at the dining room table, beaming that his company decided to switch 99% of their technology to SQL server.  He is a SQL DBA about to be promoted to SQL Architect.  I think that means he goes from database boss to database maximum boss.  I always think of The Matrix when he says this.  That’s as close as my understanding of his field gets.  He follows up, informing me he has to take a business trip to Seattle. 

“They let him work from home,” I remind myself, trying to find my gratitude.

Leif is running around naked.  I have to remind him that we don’t rub our penis on the dog.  He keeps screaming “poop, poop, poop!” at the top of his lungs.  No wonder our neighbors are moving out today after only being here a few months.  I would too.  

I am drinking hot water with lemon.  To deal with my feelings of frustration I over ate.  It was good enough overeating.  You know, sourdough bread and butter and fried eggs.  Comfort food for a harsh day, but pregnancy indegestion was kind enough to kick in.  

I am reading Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn: The Complete Guide.  I just contacted my mother to see if she would like to help us with Leif during labor and for a week or two afterwards.  She responded that she would love to, but likely can’t take off work.  

I wonder if we should go ahead and hire a labor doula for an extra set of hands.  (If you have any great suggestions, let us know!)

I just sigh.  And sigh again.  Then take a deep breath.  

I may be crazy, but at least I make crazy look good.  THERE is where I can find my gratitude.


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