I was sitting in a large lecture hall, filled with people. I was sitting in the front, along with my husband, his younger sister, her husband, my mother-in-law, and my husband’s oldest sister’s husband. Continue reading “Dream Journal 8/7/18 | Sister-In-Law’s Book”
I’ll never understand just how single parents do it. They are honestly superheroes. I’m not even a single mother, but I feel like I am more often than not. Since day one, I have changed every poopy diaper (yes, every poopy diaper), and most of the wet ones. I have cooked and fed every meal. I have executed every bath, and read every story. Given every dose of medicine. I have put him down for every nap, and every bed time. I have woken up with him night after night, and rocked him back to sleep. I am the one who wakes up with him every morning. Just last night, he woke up at 1:30, and would not go back to sleep, not matter what I did. We spent hours rocking, and got nowhere. My back was on fire from the crappy, old rocking chair, and I was so exhausted that I was fighting the urge to throw up all over his sweet face. I ended up lying down uncomfortably on the couch in the living room around 3:00 in the morning, and he fell asleep on top of me from 5:00-7:30. All I could do was try to cry silently, like I’ve been doing most nights lately, and try not to wake him up. I got no sleep. None.
His separation anxiety is so extreme this time. It has never been this bad. He screams and screams and screams when I try to put him in his crib, if I even lean over it. He wakes up the second I put him in there, even if I’ve been rocking him for an hour, and he was passed out. He open his eyes, stand up, and scream.
This morning, he refused to nap, just like every day for the last week. This sleep regression/cold/ear infection/teething/separation anxiety has hit him like a ton of bricks, and it is wearing me thin. He has been so fussy during the day, and it has been so hard to get anything done, whether at home or in town, because he is just so clingy and upset. I tried to leave him with his father today, so I could try and get a few moments of sleep, but honestly, I don’t trust him with him. I know he would probably never hurt him, but he has a very short fuse, and a very bad temper, and often raises his voice at him, or cusses at him, and it makes me so angry. Sure, I get angry sometimes, and I’ve raised my voice more often than I’d like to admit in just the last week, but he just gets ridiculous. Nevermind the fact that our son is barely over a year old, and doesn’t even understand what is going on, but what reason does HE have to be upset? He doesn’t DO anything. He has never spent a night, getting zero sleep, rocking in a creaky rocking chair for 3 hours. He got 10 hours of sleep last night! So, I do everything. I sacrifice sleep to make sure his diaper is always clean, or that he gets his meals on time, because Kyle always seems to “forget” or “lose track of time” when I leave him alone with him, even for an hour, so I can sleep, even though he is just sitting on his ass playing a game, or watching TV. I hate it.
I made a comment out loud to my son today, a bit passive aggressively, about how I was too exhausted to make lunch, but that I had to, because no one else would, and Kyle stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him, to play his Gameboy (yep, talking about a grown man here). He gets so upset when I voice my frustration about doing 90% of the work when it comes to our son and our household, yet he throws these tantrums, and shuts himself in the bedroom for hours, leaving me even more alone. Proving my point. I’ve been asking him to get out to the laundromat for the last three days to do some laundry, since we are completely out of clean clothes, and he just keeps forgetting. A few days ago, I asked him if he would help me with the dishes, not DO the dishes, just help me, since I had already done nearly half of them, and our son was clinging to me, whining to be picked up. He just ignored me.
Last night was trash night, one of the only chores he will partake in, if I don’t do it, and he always waits until we are going to bed to do it. I was already under the covers, with the lights off, and with my glasses on the end table, when he came in and asked me to get the kitchen garbage out, and empty Liam’s diaper bin for him, which is something I always seem to end up doing for him. I stood my ground, and told him to just do it. He made sure to make as much noise as possible, sighing and gagging dramatically, cussing at the garbage bin when he dropped it and made noise. Then he came to bed, in a huff, and rolled over angrily. Absolutely unnecessary. And I get bitchy, and I get passive aggressive, and he brings out the worst in me. I don’t mean to, but I just get so upset. He doesn’t fight, we never fight. And that is a problem. He doesn’t talk back, because he doesn’t talk at all. He just shuts off, often storming off to the bedroom. And nothing gets done. I am so tired of it.
I love him, I really do, and I know he loves me and his son, but this is frustrating, and it is destroying me. I am exhausted, my blood pressure is through the roof, and I have been so, so depressed. I am tired of the bullshit excuses, and the immaturity. I want him to grow up, but he just won’t. I want him to listen to me, and understand how hard this has been for me, and what I am going through. The only reason I keep going is because I know that my son needs me, and no one else will take care of him.
But I’ve been having days lately, where the prospect of simply disappearing, leaving everything behind, seems more and more tempting.
I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t feel this overwhelmed, and this alone, when his father is RIGHT THERE. He doesn’t even work this week. He has been home for days, and will be home for the rest of the week, but… nothing. He won’t help me. It honestly feels like he doesn’t care.
I am at the end of my rope. I just want a break. A nap. Some quiet. I need help, and I have no one. Some days, I feel like it would be better if I actually were alone, then I would only have one toddler to deal with. Only one person’s messes to constantly clean up.
Anyway, thanks for reading, friends. Thank you for letting me vent. I’m off to feed my overly exhausted kiddo a snack, and try to get him to take a nap, even though I know it won’t happen.
Seconds later, the sky opened up, and it started to rain. It was not even 1:30. I was so angry, and frustrated, and disappointed… and I knew it was going to get worse once lifted Liam out of the stroller and brought him back inside. He loves being outside. Why didn’t I listen to my gut? Never trust the weather people. They suck.
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt | Misstep
Hey, friends. I’m having a rough day today. Well, rough few days. From the time I woke up, to the time I went to bed, I was feeling dizzy and nauseous. I almost fainted in the shower, and had to sit on the floor of the tub for a few minutes with my eyes closed. Luckily, it was Kyle’s day off, so he was here to help me take care of Liam, since I had zero energy, and zero willpower to be alive. I managed to get outside to buy a coffee, and take Liam to the park, and the fresh air and caffeine seemed to help. But as soon as I got home, I felt like the waking dead once again.
Last night, I didn’t sleep. At all. I was having some really bad stomach pains in the upper part of my stomach, which kept waking me up throughout the night, and making me feel like I was going to be sick. The only thing that made the pain lessen slightly was lying on my back with my hands pressed on my stomach. I don’t really enjoy sleeping on my back, so even when the pain wasn’t as bad, I still couldn’t fall asleep.
This morning, Liam woke up much earlier than usual, and was very unhappy that he had to wait for his breakfast, while I sat on my bathroom floor, trying to stop the world from spinning. Needless to say, I’m still not feeling great. My stomach doesn’t hurt as badly, but I am exhausted, and being stuck inside the apartment isn’t helping with that. The forecast for this weekend calls for three days of rain and clouds, but warm temperatures. I checked THREE different weather websites, multiple times throughout the morning, to check when the highest chance of rain was. One website said not until 4:00, another said 6:00, and the last one said not until 10-11:00 at night. I figured it would be alright to spend an hour or so outside. What are the odds that THREE different sites could be wrong about the weather?
After Liam finished his lunch, I got us dressed and ready to head out to the park. Looking out the window, I could see that the sky was gray, but it was a bright gray, and not ominous-looking at all. I grabbed my iPod, hoisted Liam onto my hip, dragged his stroller down the back steps, and started to buckle him in for our walk.
Then, I felt it.
I stopped fiddling with his buckles, and looked over at the large puddle to the side of our yard. I didn’t see any ripples. I thought, maybe, a bug spit on me or something? It was barely 1:30. There was no way that it was raining. No way, right?
Seconds later, the sky opened up, and it started to drizzle. It was not even 1:30! HOW? WHY? I was angry, and frustrated, and disappointed… and I knew it was going to get worse once I lifted Liam out of the stroller and brought him back inside. He loves being outside. Why didn’t I listen to my gut? Never trust the weather people. They suck. Ugh. Sure enough, his eyes narrowed at me as I lifted him back out, dragged the stroller back up the stairs, and stored it away next to the back door. I put him down in the kitchen, and bent to take off his shoes and coat.
He stomped his feet.
He tried to pull his coat back on.
That went on for nearly 20 minutes, while I tried to calm him with a snack, and some water, and all of his favorite toys. Nothing helped. So, I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted and nauseous, and waited for him to calm down on his own, so that we could play together. He eventually did, and we built masterpieces with his Mega Bloks and watched some Chuggington. And all was well… except for the nausea, dizziness, stomach pains, exhaustion, and wanting to die.
Question: HOW MUCH MONEY DO METEOROLOGISTS MAKE TO BE THIS WRONG?
Three. Three different websites, three different forecasts, all of them horribly incorrect. How is that possible? Hell, pay me half of what they make, I’ll stand outside for 5 minutes, and give you my best guess of what the weather will be. I’m sure I will be more accurate than these people. Seriously.
Anyway, thanks for reading, friends. I’m going to go sneak in a nap with the kiddo before dinner.
Warning, I’m about to get a little bitchy.
Continuing with our recent pattern of clingy, fussy, tantrum throwing baby days, today has been no different. Liam went to bed with a little less fuss than normal lately, but woke up a few hours later, thanks to our noisy neighbors. It was hell to get him back to sleep, but when he finally drifted off, he slept through the night.
And then, morning came.
I woke up to his fussing over the monitor, and got up to make him a bottle. I went to his room to give him his bottle, and was greeted by him immediately starting in on a shrieking, wailing fit. Not exactly the first thing I wanted to deal with at 7:00 in the morning. I gave him his bottle, but he only drank a few ounces before tossing it into his crib bars, and continuing with his cries. I quickly picked him up to calm him down, but even that didn’t work. He pushed away from me, flailing his head back dramatically, and cried louder. I sat in the rocking chair with him and bounced him a bit, but that didn’t help either. After several more minutes, I decided that I (as well as my neighbors and sleeping fiance) was going to have to deal with the noise, because this baby needed a change.
More screaming and flailing as I laid him down on the changing table. Kicking and angry grunting as I took off his pants. Rolling and crying as I tried to put a clean diaper on him. I finally got him dressed again, and carried him to the living room, still sniffling a bit, and sat on the couch. I pushed away from me, and immediately dove for my phone, which had fallen out of my pajama pants pocket. I grabbed it from the couch before he could get it. BIG MISTAKE. This brought on yet another tantrum, which lasted a total of 10 minutes, where he picked up his toys that I had just gotten out for him, and threw them angrily. So I picked up his toys, put them all back in his box, and sat on the couch, staring at him until he stopped.
He eventually stopped, and came over to me, smiling, like it never happened. I wiped away my frustrated tears, and turned on Jake and the Neverland Pirates. At this point, Kyle conveniently walked out of his bedroom, stole my blanket, and laid down on the floor to play with Liam, and I got up to make breakfast.
After venting briefly on Facebook about how Kyle is working SIX 12-hour long shifts this week, leaving me 100% alone with our son, and no escape from our apartment, I was bombarded with comments and messages from Kyle’s aunts, grandparents, and mom, all telling me to just “take a break” from Liam.
Are you joking? Liam has never gone more than an hour without me, and even then, he was with Kyle. Who would I leave him with? The only person would be Kyle’s mom, who lives 45 minutes away, and would have to drive here, and stay in our apartment, just so I could… what? Leave the room? Sit in Kyle’s room and stare at the ceiling? Take a nap? Why? I can’t go anywhere, or do anything. And even if leaving was an option, which it isn’t, Liam doesn’t do well with other people. At all. And I can’t do any housework, because if I’m in sight, and not with him, Liam has a conniption. So, what’s the point? I don’t like when people tell me to “take a break” from my son, as if it’s so damn easy. Especially when they know my situation.
I don’t get breaks. I don’t even NEED a break. What I need, is for Kyle’s first job to respect his availability change that he put in MONTHS ago, stop screwing with his hours, and hire more people so that he doesn’t have to work open to close EVERY day this week. I need my partner, and Liam needs his dad, so that I can get something, anything, done in this damn house. Or, ya know, leave the house.
Anyway. Thanks for reading.
I’ve been feeling really down lately, struggling with more issues than I’d care to list out. A teething baby, sleepless nights, and disappointment in myself currently top the list. I woke up this morning, and didn’t want to move. The only thing that was able to get me out of bed was knowing that there was a tiny, hungry humanoid that depends on me to take care of him.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a good mood this morning either. He threw a pretty epic tantrum after I plucked the PS4 controller from his hands, which I had carelessly left on the arm of the couch. We’ve had too many electronic items damaged by this little fountain of drool, so I’ve learning to hide things out of his reach. But this morning, I forgot. As he threw his tantrum, completely inconsolable no matter what I did, I gave into all of the frustrations I had been feeling lately, and broke down crying right along with him.
And then I made us pancakes. Cinnamon banana raisin pancakes, specifically.
Liam and I love pancakes, but we only have them on special days, or when we both need a little pick-me-up. I know, I know… they aren’t the healthiest breakfast option (I add fruit, pureed sweet potatoes, or pureed squash to mine, but they are still boxed pancakes), but we needed them today. I sat Liam in his booster seat, pushed him into the table, and gave him some banana slices to temporarily satisfy his hunger while I mixed my ingredients at the counter. The momentary quiet allowed me to calm down, and remember that he is having just as hard a time as I am, and it isn’t his fault that he is so cranky. I don’t remember getting my teeth, but I can imagine that it isn’t very enjoyable.
As I flipped our tiny, baby fist-sized pancakes on the griddle (I use a teaspoon to scoop the batter onto the griddle, which makes for fun, tiny pancakes that we can both enjoy), I kept looking over at my sweet boy, sitting contently, feeding himself his banana pieces, and smiling.
A few times, he turned his head to smile at me, making loud cooing noises to get my attention, seemingly forgiving me for losing my cool only minutes earlier, and I couldn’t help but smile back and sigh at this beautiful, smart human that I am raising. He is a good baby. He is a very good baby. We just have bad days sometimes. But things will get better soon.
Nothing some cinnamon banana raisin pancakes can’t fix!
Thanks for reading.