Sometimes I feel like a rockstar mom and sometimes I feel like a shitty mom.
Actually, I feel like a rockstar mom some days. Or maybe some hours. Some moments, really.
And I feel like, too often, I am trying to push away the shitty mom feelings.
On the bad days, I’m not able to step back and gain perspective on the day until Brian gets home and I can separate myself from the kid, breathe, and take a break. When I finally do get that perspective, often times I realize that the D-man is just having a rough day and it has nothing to do with me. Just because I can’t calm him, just because he won’t nap, just because he follows me around the house screaming and begging to be carried doesn’t mean that I am a shitty mom. But man, it sure feels shitty.
Today was one of those days where I didn’t get a break. Dylan only naps once a day now, but that’s because he sleeps like a champ at night so I’m good with that. But today he did the thing where he chose to nap during a car ride and not while I could actually relax and take some time for myself. This means I am literally watching the kid for the entire day, including while pooping.
I chose to go get some pictures framed today so we can actually start decorating this house we’ve lived in for…10 months now. These days I have to force myself to get out of the house and run errands because I have this mental block on doing things like that with a baby. They seem so hard. I always feel rushed. There’s so much stuff to pack. Often, it hardly seems worth it. But today, I went.
He was cranky, even after the car nap. The saleslady was being super helpful, which I appreciated. We finished just as Dylan was reaching his limit (his diaper was also reaching its limit) and so we headed to the bathroom. Here’s the thing: Dylan hates public bathrooms. He’s scared of the sound of the industrial flushing of the toilets. Imagine being in Powell’s bookstore, which is a crowded madhouse on any normal day. Try doing this with an infant in a stroller. Try doing this when there’s a line out the door for the women’s bathroom and only one changing table…that’s currently in use. With several stalls (meaning several toilets) and the 10 minutes it took for the woman in front of me to change her baby, that equals roughly 183556738 flushes. Dylan was screeching and is forever traumatized. So today, upon entering the bathroom, despite us being the only ones in there, he started whimpering. He was screaming by the time we were done.
And then, by the time we got home, the outing had taken long enough that it was time for him to eat again. (Eating has become a whole other ordeal, since he now grabs the spoon and flings puree everywhere in an effort to feed himself. And finger food goes everywhere but his mouth. But, I digress.) And even after eating he was still clingy and fussy. Around this time of day, the cat also starts screaming at me for food, and today was no exception. Picture me standing in the kitchen, looking down at my two monsters – one furry, one fleshy, both on all fours – crying up at me. Love me, pet me, feed me.
I’m not really sure where this post is going or how to end it. And, honestly, I have mixed feelings about how today went. On one hand, we got a lot done. On the other, it was stressful.
I did my best
I did my best
I did my best.
Psychobabble 