At 3 a.m.

February 6, 2016

At 3 a.m. I am clumsy and stumble a lot, tripping on things seen and unseen. 

At 3 a.m. I have the vocabulary of a sailor long at sea, uninhibited and wild. 

At 3 a.m. I am angry and have the arguments with loved one I normally keep bottled up, yelling the vicious things I probably don’t mean. The fight is one-sided and I ever open my mouth. At 3 a.m. I also reenact a lot of things in my head. 

At 3 a.m. I feel things I don’t feel during the rest of the day, but mostly anger. At 3 a.m. I am angry. 

At 3 a.m. I argue with chocolate. I hate chocolate for being so chocolate. I hate chocolate for not being satiating enough and always leaving me wanting more. I don’t eat chocolate at 3 a.m. because that’s when I hate chocolate and fight with it. 

At 3 a.m I wish I had a sound proof room so I could do the hateful CIO method without waking the family. 3 a.m. is the only time I would ever consider CIO. 

At 3 a.m. I hate my life. I reconsider all my life’s decisions. 


Impossible Resolutions

February 4, 2016

As the only person in the country who doesn’t have Prime, Amazon has conspired with USPS to punish me by ensuring that everything I order is unnecessarily delayed and spends an extra four days bounding around Dallas before being finally delivered to me. It’s so bad I can actually predict how long the delay will be and when the package will actually arrive. 

I should stop shopping at Amazon out of spite. Yeah, like that’s going to happen. 


More than Just Surviving

January 28, 2016

Earlier, when the big boys were little and we weren’t making enough to survive and everything was stress, I turned to food for help. If a cookie helped me get through the afternoon without losing it on the cranky kids who wouldn’t nap, then it was worth it. If making cookies “just because” brought some fun into our family and helped us forget, even for a minute, our dire straights, then it was worth it. And if I was gaining weight in the process, but we were able to hold the family together, then it was worth it. And it worked. We lived in survival mode for a long time but it worked — we survived. 

Now I have a new little one, and sometimes he doesn’t sleep, and then he’s cranky, and my body is still trying to sort itself out and regulate back to normal, and when I feel stressed I look for cookies, chocolate, anything. I had lost some weight when I was sick immediately after the birth, but I have eaten my way back to those missing pounds. (They were delicious.) I had even justified them. 

Paul travels a lot with his new job. The weeks when he is gone are very long. School, homework, piano, extra-curriculars, scouting, food, bedtime, they all take a toll. (Bedtime most especially. I have a very severe love/hate relationship with bedtime.) 

But it is different this time. We are okay. I can handle being a single mother during the week; I refuse to white-knuckle my way through life. This is not a temporary moment to be endured. This, this is my life. And I will not survive, I will thrive. 

I can be patient with myself that if we’ve had a bad night I can take the day come what may. 

I can fill the good days with variety so we make good memories. 

I can make healthy food choices for myself by planning ahead. 

I can create quiet moments for myself, even if it’s reading a blog post in the bathroom, to rejuvenate myself. 

I can greet my husband at the end of the week with a smile instead of a tired and frustrated, “you’re back.”

I can still make cookies sometimes. Not because I need them. 

I can thrive. 


It’s the Little Things

January 28, 2016

The difference between getting up every hour and getting up every two hours is huge. Hello, World! We are ready for you today!


What kind of a person does my phone think I am?!

January 27, 2016

I posted on Instagram a photo of the baby chewing his blanket. I captioned it “muslin is his favourite snack.” 

My phone autocorrected it, obviously unfamiliar with the traditional swaddling blanket. My phone thinks we are truly terrible people. 

So now I have to set the record straight: we do not eat Muslims!


Sacrifice

January 9, 2016

It’s easy to forget so much of the early days of motherhood. After all things happens so quickly. Even sleep. Especially sleep. And without sleep we forget the details, glossing the years with a thick brush. If we are lucky we can recall happy memories and render feelings. 

I’ve come to realize just how much of my personhood is lost in mothering a very young child. I have the perspective to see that it isn’t forever and that there is time again for me as they get older, and also that this loss of self is a donation freely made, a sacrifice I choose to give my child and my family. Because I had a large gap between my second and my third I was able to gain that perspective. 

So here I am again in the land of the sleep deprived. I have trouble with words and am eating to stay awake. Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely in love with my reason for being so tired, and I’m also grateful to know it won’t be forever. 

I miss sleep. And reading. And not being screamed at while showering. But those things will come again, and in the meantime I give myself to this baby. 


In Review

December 31, 2015

The helper monkeys at WordPress emailed me my yearly stats. Hooray! they tell me, you wrote 11 posts! Somehow this doesn’t quite fill me with pride. My most popular posts, in case I cared about those things, are birthday parties from when we lived in California. Thanks be to Pinterest for the boost in stats. 

It actually doesn’t bother me that I have posted so little, or that I’ve got less than half a dozen readers. I never set out for attention, I just needed a new journal. I gained a couple of friends along the way and for that I’m grateful for the blog. 

The historian in me isn’t even upset at my spare postings. I’m a revisionist historian at best and I’m happy to not have documented much of 2015. The highlights are good enough. I can look back and remember the job, the baby, Paul’s new job, and not remember the details of how hard everything was and how much I don’t love being pregnant and was drowning through the newborn phase. 

So long, 2015, I hope to remember you as a big year, and a good one. 


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