Mood: Exasperated
Listening to: American Pie – Don McLean along with my ghetto-booty wall sleeve air conditioner that will doubtlessly vibrate itself out onto the porch any minute now. Yippee.
I have once more emerged from the black hole of the internets once again to provide you with a taste of the rediculosity that is parenting. I know I’ve been away from a while (again!). I sincerely hope no one is checking back in every few days for inspiration. I hate it when I check back on a blog every day for a month to find the same entry staring me in the face. That’s just kind of how life is going these days.
While I was absent, I took my two progeny to visit my mother, best friend, and grandparents in Chicago and Michigan. For the most part, it was a great trip and fun was had by all. The rest we’ll dig into with a spoon in another blog.
And now for something completely different, last night I was contemplating how detrimental it would be to pipe mashed potatoes in my ears. Just to deaden the noise. You see, my baby is 7.5 months old now, and to my dismay, has decided that she is a screamer. And a yeller. She screams for food, she screams for a clean diaper, she screams to be picked up, she screams because she’s happy. Hell, she screams just for the joy of making so much noise. The problem with all this is that I have wood floors in my apartment and it’s not overly furnished with noise reduction items like love seats and curtains. I seriously have to cover my ears at times it is so shrill. And she does it all the time. She has been so different from my eldest daughter. In almost every aspect, she has been a much more difficult baby. It really calls my sanity into question when I still insist I want more kids.
I’ve always thought that having kids and trying to preserve your own identity is like trying to go swimming in a tar pit. Some people realize this before they have kids and jump in anyway, others, like me, don’t realize it until much later. Of course if you aren’t really interested in preserving your own identity sans kids and are totally sold on a new mommy identity, you have already sunk. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Of course most of us moms that identify with losing our identity get an inordinate amount of joy from said tar pit (i.e. our kids), it still gets a little depressing at times. I’ve told my husband many times that if I were able to just coast along never cooking or cleaning a thing, I’d probably handle motherhood just fine. The minute I start to put fight and cook or clean, little tar limbs appear out of nowhere needing lots of different things. My 4 year old is much better than the baby, but the ability to talk and get bored have inspired her to think of lots of unnecessary things to bother me to fetch for her. I.e. milk, a scissors, finger paints, a taco salad (seriously, wtf?). At least when it’s moderately temperate outside we can go for a walk or to the park. When Mother Nature decides to turn into a steam cooker, we’re not only stuck together, we’re stuck together in my 1000 square foot apartment. For the 18 or so hours they are awake.
*Cue tragic sigh. I’m sure I’ll miss all of this as they get older.
Becky
