I think I am almost to reenter real life. It’s been building, this feeling of being worn out, of missing me time, of missing Misterpie and I, of being jealous of him and his coworkers. I noticed I was missing commuting. God, I love commuting. No one can ask anything of you, no one wants to talk at you, you can’t be doing something productive instead, you are forced – FORCED! – to just sit there with your coffee and read. Bliss, I tell you. I miss commuting.
I noticed I was feeling prickly about a coworker of Misterpie’s, not something I normally feel, and realized I was jealous that they get to spend time together as regular people, adults who share ideas, collaborate, hang out, just talk. Real people, not the mere appliances of child care that we are at home right now. When he arrives home, it is straight into the dinner-bath-bedtime cha-cha, and then I take care of a few things and go off to bed to sneak in an extra shred of sleep before I have to wake in the middle of the night to spend more time as I have spent my day, holding a baby. I miss being us, with time for talking, playing a game, discussing things beyond whether the baby is double-diapered for night. Maybe even, some day, having time enough to enjoy an intimate evening rather than fumbling quickly through the rare moment alone snatched while The Bun naps briefly and we’ve sent Pumpkinpie upstairs for the treat of afternoon Treehouse viewing. I know we’ll get back there – we did after Pumpkinpie – but I miss it, and it’s wearing thin, this shift work approach to marriage and parenting.
I miss real sleep. I mean the glorious feeling of waking up rested, or at least mostly, that comes from sleeping for hours, all in a row, unbroken. I have consciously not complained much about this, for a few reasons. As far as the blog goes, not only have far better posts died on the vine before I could find time to write them, but I also don’t want to bore the pants off of you all by indulging in what would surely be post after post about it. I mean, a mother? Tired? Groundbreaking stuff! As if you all don’t know about that. And more to the point to me, The Bun is so much better a sleeper than Pumpkinpie was that I just feel like I really can’t complain much, knowing how much worse it could be (really, her blog name should probably have been something more like Coffee Cake). I have never, with the Bun, reached that state of sleep deprivation where you feel brittle, everything both dreamlike and hyperreal, sunlight at once blinding you to the back of your skull and not even penetrating the bubble you are encapsulated in, the state I existed in for months when Pumpkinpie was wee. So yes, I feel lucky, but it does still remain that I am tired, and getting tired of being tired.
I miss a time and place to stretch my brain, exercise my passion for my work, a time not tucked in tiny stolen increments when I nip a little off of my sleep time, try to balance a keyboard on my lap and type one-handed as I pump, or ignore a mounting pile of dishes to read a few pages or tap out a few lines before The Bun awakes from his napping. I miss a dedicated block of time where my job is my only job, where I am not feeling sneaky for taking the time and rushed in anticipation of cries that herald more baby-holding.
In short (ha! Too late, kittenpie…), I am getting a bit burnt out. I am really looking forward to this summer, when we will all be off together for perhaps the first and last time, a time when I will not be the one on duty all the time, but I also think that when that much-anticipated summer has to end, I will be ready to go back to real life along with my husband and daughter. For this week, though? At least I have a haircut on Saturday to look forward to.