DadaMama

Here Is Your Happy Thought

Joy

Today was a shitty day. I don't like to use that word, but there it is. I mean, today had its high points but mostly it sucked and so I leave you with this:

Child

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

--Sylvia Plath

Oy, My Aching Head

Oldest child turned 5 today. (Birthday letter forthcoming tomorrow. I can write while the children are at school.)

Am exhausted.

Have a headache.

Send reinforcements.

Dashing Husband comes home very late tomorrow night. I have never been so looking forward to his homecoming in my life.

All the News That is News

I took the children to the doctor on Friday afternoon, where breathing treatments and antibiotics were prescribed for Gus (the kid has not been on antibiotics since 2006), and where it was also discovered that Will has a hole in his ear drum. Probably from the tubes he had put in when he was 11 months old--and potentially a problem. Awesome. The pediatrician mentioned that he may "need a patch" in the future. Back to the ENT for us!

Now here it is, Monday morning, and both boys are still hacking away. They can't go to school, which means I get to spend today convincing them that they need to rest, even though they'd rather make a giant pile of pillows to jump on.

We're down to our last two pre-baby weeks, and sleep is getting harder and harder to come by. I feel as if I should be prowling around the house while everyone else is sleeping. Very restless, but not in a productive way. It's more of an I'm-over-this-pregnancy kind of moping, I think. Almost everything is ready for Superbaby, except that I can't bring myself to decide what to do with all the extra clothes I need to store. I now own three boys worth of clothing in a range of sizes (0-5T), and it seems a little overwhelming.

I'm hoping Superbaby will decide he wants to be born early.

Fog As a Metaphor for Self-Awareness

I am so freaking tired today that it's all I can do to keep my eyelids open. Do you think anyone would notice if I just said "to hell with it" and went to sleep??

Yeah, somebody probably would.

Life is getting bumpy, or at least that's how this week feels. There is never enough time, there is never enough rest, and the house is tumbling down around my ears. My overwhelming need to sleep is finally beginning to eclipse my desire to have everything in order all the time.

The end is nigh, though, and that's not as dire as it sounds. On March 3rd, we are to arrive at the hospital at 10 am for a c-section at noon. This means that I can get up, make the children breakfast, and send them off to school before quietly packing my bags and my favorite pillow. If it was up to me, I would skip the c-section and do this the normal way--but it's not, and a planned birth definitely has its advantages.

My lovely obstetrician gave me a prescription for Tylenol 3 to kill my back pain, following it up with a prescription for massage therapy. My back thanks her, and so does my addled brain. Right now a massage sounds like heaven.

A List for Monday

1. I have three weeks left at work. Mercifully, this week and next are short because of holidays.

2. Sleeping is getting harder and harder, as Superbaby gets bigger and bigger. I have real difficulty dragging my butt out of bed in the mornings.

3. The baby shower I attended on Friday night for Superbaby was a lot of fun.  Good people, good food, and tiny, adorable presents. I need to get started on thank you notes before I forget.

4. I need to take a giant shopping trip to Target. I've gotten a lot of baby things, but still need more. The good news is that we're pretty stocked up on blankets, socks, and toys.

5. I think I've solved my stroller dilemma. You didn't know I had one, did you?

6. I've also solved the dresser dilemma. The furniture will not all be white, but Superbaby will have a lovely piece of hand-stained furniture to keep for the rest of his life.

7. I undersweetened my coffee. Lame. 

Free Dog. Scratch That, I'll PAY You to Take Him.

Remember when my knitting bag got peed on? Yeah, those were fun times. Since that incident, a dog bed and a pile of blankets have been peed on as well. Want to know a totally awesome way to spend your day? Walking around the house, certain that you smell pee, and trying to locate the source.

We finally pulled the dog crate out of the attic this weekend, and let me tell you, DOGS SUCK. Wolfgang has now spent three nights in a row whimpering frantically in the crate ALL NIGHT LONG. It's this high-pitched puppy whining noise that ends in a pitiful and ear-shattering bark. And it makes me want to stab him in the eyeballs. If it wasn't so damn cold outside at night, you can bet the ranch I would put the dog and the crate on the back porch. Or better yet, in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of a corn field in Nebraska.

This morning, just for fun, Wolfgang took it up a few notches to really frantic barking, which inspired Catcher (the other effing dog who is on my list but for different reasons) to join in by barking along. When I finally hauled myself out of bed to put them outside, they both raced out the door to stand by the back gate, where they barked joyously. AT NOTHING.

We got desperate on Sunday night and dug out the bark collar we haven't used in, I don't know, four years or so. The really awesome thing is that the bark collar has a dead battery, which Wolfgang discovered and used to his advantage, even though he's got the IQ of an amoeba. I don't really like to put the bark collar on the dog, because it delivers an electric shock when barking gets out of control, which is (I admit) mean and cruel--but these days, no one screws with the sleep schedule and lives to tell the story. We will be replacing that battery, and Wolfgang will stay in his crate, all night, quietly, until he remembers that peeing in the house is not allowed.

I HATE DOGS. I'm sure this is just a phase related to being the mother of young children. Only time will tell.

Am Dying. Send Soup.

I feel like ass. My throat hurts, my nose is snotty, and I cannot stop coughing. Because I am 28 weeks pregnant, the cough is accompanied by my bladder letting go at odd moments. Hooray for incontinence! Work tomorrow is not looking good. Not like I have the time off, it's just that I don't think I can teach without a voice, and no one really wants to listen to me hack up my lungs.

Superbaby has made his home in my rib cage, which means I receive a sharp poke everytime I (try to)  bend over. Most days we are at war over who gets to stretch and who gets to breath oxygen. Guess who's winning? He likes to kick/punch (no idea, right now, which end--butt or head--is up in there at the moment) straight down, into my cervix, after which I am sure he giggles maniacally with glee. Rotten kid.

Things I Need to Accomplish

1. Call my insurance company. Do they cover mental health care for a four-year-old?

2. Wait by the mailbox for my new parenting books to arrive. I finally got a good suggestion for what might actually help, so I bought it. Immediately.

3. Call the child psychiatrist recommended to me by a friend to schedule a psychological evaluation.

4. Remember to hold on to my sanity.

5. Find out how much it costs to navigate all of this without health insurance, just in case.

Oh Vacation, How I Long For Thee!

This was yesterday:

Fever: 102 degrees F.

Attitude: Generally crappy.

Worry factor for the mother: High. Must we spend every fall/winter doing this?

You know it's bad when he needs The Bink in the middle of the day.

We took a field trip to the pediatrician, where Will earned another round of Zithromax.

Today started off well, but quickly took a turn for the worse. After the pancakes and cartoons, there was a colossal blow-out with Gus, during which I behaved like a small child. There was some slamming of doors and a lot of crying. I am not proud of myself. Maybe I am more like my child than I'd like to admit. He digs in his heels, so I dig in mine. I suffer more for this than he does, I think, but WTF?!

This afternoon we went to the fall arts festival, which also started off well. But then Gus of the No Nap decided he was bored. Boredom led to complaining and then to general brattiness, and I am thinking of never taking him anywhere ever again.

Luckily Nana and Cheez came with us, which provided some distraction for the children and a lot of relief for me. Plus, they brought alien masks:

If you look closely, you can see how tired Gus is. Reason #476 that four-year-olds are the devil: They will insist that they DO NOT NEED TO NAP, but THEY DO. You might as well try convincing the Pope that he would rather be a Protestant.

I am going to bed early tonight.

STRESSED

WARNING: This post contains extensive complaining and whining. Pregnant working moms need an outlet. Kthx!

I need a vacation. Not an expensive, flashy trip far away--just a break from my life. I am so. tired. I could go to bed at 7 pm and sleep until 10 the next day for an entire week, and I still wouldn't be caught up.

The house is a mess all the time, which only contributes to my stress because the only way I can relax is when things are in their place. This seems counterintuitive for someone as disorganized as I am, but there it is. Definitely counterintuitive for someone with small children.

We have not had a working bathroom since Saturday, which means I've been washing my hair and the children in the sink. Dashing Husband has worked his ass off renovating as fast as he can (and I assure you, he is getting a very awesome amazing and fabulous Christmas present this year because I OWE HIM), but it's hard to go without my morning shower, as beautiful as the bathroom is about to be. We're installing the new (non-rocking! and non-running-all-the-time! ) toilet this evening, and the grout should be cured enough to shower again as soon as we get the debris out of the tub.

The laundry--OH MY GOD the laundry. It's everywhere. Down the hallway, on the floor of the boys' room, on the floor of my room, on the couch in the den, and in at least one laundry basket. If I washed laundry every day of the week, it would still not all be clean, and none of it would be put away.

And the dogs. They bark constantly, they lick and chew and whine and pant in my face, and I have no patience for them anymore. I am tired of Catcher running out the gate or the door every time she sees an opportunity, and I am tired of Wolfie barking his fool head off because OMG! AN ACORN FELL FROM A TREE!

It has become clear to me that my getting a job has only complicated my life. Yes, I am using my brains, and yes, it's nice to feel smart, but it's not so nice to feel frantic and overwhelmed all the time. I don't even work what's considered a "full" day at my job, but still I cannot accomplish half the things I want to. If we hadn't bought that damn Prius, I would seriously consider quitting. Of course, quitting means staying home with the kids full time again, and trying to occupy my brain in some other fashion, and I can't say that the option is that much more appealing than continuing to work.

Being pregnant is the wrench in my machine. I was fine, I was handling everything with at least a modicum of grace until July. And then, one positive pregnancy test later, I'm a bitchy, whiny, overwhelmed wife, teacher, and mother of two who has no patience for basically everyone she knows. Pregnancy hormones SUCK. After Superbaby is born, I'm getting my tubes tied, and then I will only have the monthly hormones to deal with.

I have thirteen weeks left at work (that's thirteen "working" weeks, fifteen if you count Winter Break), and it cannot pass quickly enough.

I wish I lived in Sweden. Or Canada. Or somewhere that I could take a reasonable amount of maternity leave without having to worry about money.

I'm done now. I will make it through this, because at the end is a soft, snuggly son and little brother I can't wait to meet.