January 17, 2013

This is hard.

Things have never been this chaotic. Never have I looked or felt so disheveled and never have I been yanked in as many directions. I've also never been as unclear about whether or not I am actually happy. I'm supposed to be happy. Right?

Maybe I don't know whether I am happy or not because there are blissful days and horrendous-God-awful-shoot-me-in-the-face days stacked back to back. And this isn't the part where I say that this parenthood thing is all worth it. Because there are plenty of days when I can't say I'm sure about that. Then again, I've never had less time to think or breathe or be, so who knows?

A portion of this blog post was written while sitting on a pile of clean laundry that's strewn at the bottom of my staircase. This way I'm halfway between Livvy, who is upstairs in her crib fighting taking her first nap of the day (at 3 p.m.!) and Tessa, who I'm also trying to get to take her first nap and who may or may not be inhabited by a demon. My house is trashed. The washing machine is making that awful thudding noise it makes when the laundry gets all clogged up on one side. I have spit-up on my pants, breast milk seeping through my shirt, and dark circles that are now eating my cheeks. I'd love a shower. I've had two cups of coffee and a Diet Coke and no water today. I barely slept last night because we're trying to get Livvy to sleep in her crib. Livvy, who hates all sleeping surfaces that aren't made of warm skin and a heartbeat.

From the minute I woke up this morning, the day has been a battle. And yesterday before it was a battle, too. A battle to get the kids fed and dressed and bathed and Tessa to and from school. A battle to get to my appointments and get my work done and to stay optimistic about this pile of bills and to not start screaming and never stop. This week has been one of those weeks when I wonder: What was I thinking? Really. What was I thinking? Having two kids is hard. It's really, really, really fucking hard. Some people have three kids. Four. What were they thinking? Mental note: Go to doctor. Get birth control.

Right now Tessa is yelling hysterically at me from the other room: "The poop's not coming off my butt. Mommy, would you get the poop off my butt?! Would you, please?" At least she said please.

And I think I hear Livvy crying. So, I need to go now.