How Long Will This Be Going On?

More starts, more setbacks. I started work, it was going well, but I have been falling asleep in Pumpkinpie's bed as I tuck her in, crawling into my own bed after I nestle The Bun into his, falling asleep in chairs... I'm exhausted. My house is driving me nuts, as my planned time to get organized before I went back to work evaporated in other things that took over that time, my closet is not finished, and many, many small things need doing, grating on me daily.

I had booked some time off, using up some holiday time that is mine on a use-it-or-lose-it basis. Three whole days off! Three days to paint the closet, clean out an overflowing shelf in the living room, empty some boxes upstairs. Three days to do some sorting in the playroom, catch up on laundry, and finally, finally, go meet Scarbiedoll for lunch at the Sweetmama offices. So exciting! Not relaxing, perhaps, but so satisfying to cross some things off the list, move my house a step closer to not making me crazy.

But you know there is no way this was going to happen, right? You see it coming?

Of course. The Bun began to run a fever on Sunday, in time to cancel all of my plans for Monday and Tuesday, so far. Wednesday, we'll see about tonight.

People, I am so frustrated. SO frustrated. I feel like I am just not allowed to get even halfway up the hill before me and my rock are shoved back down to the bottom. It's another month before I get another extra few days off to try again, and we'll be even further into cold and flu season so what are the chances that will materialize?

I am trying not to be angry, trying not to feel like I'm putting blame on my little guy - I know it's not his fault, not planned, and that he's not enjoying being sick. I know it's my job to be here for him and make him as comfy as possible as he is feeling unwell. I'm doing that. But I am also really wrestling with feeling cheated out of the time to try and make things better for myself and all of us in this house, time to make myself feel closer to sanity and closer to ready for the grind of work and childcare that is coming.

I'm just ... frustrated, and feeling like I'm not going to be ready to go back to work on Thursday, not going to be able to even fake happiness until I get some of this stuff done, and not seeing when that will happen now. I'm just feeling tired and worn and like I just got beaten when I thought I held the cards that could at least keep me in the game.

How do we keep going with this kind of crap, moms? How do we not start to get bitter about all the plans dashed, the hopes crushed, the opportunities missed? When you just feel like crying and calling in sick for a week, how do you keep being a responsible grownup? Because right now, I feel like throwing a damn tantrum.

Starts and Setbacks

I am pulled right now, pulled back and forth in so many ways. I don't want to stay home much longer, but am not excited about back to work yet, either - there are too many things I wanted to get done and haven't, and I'm too tired to be excited. Still, I know I need to get on with it and develop that new routine so we can all move into this school year and know what's coming. I'm a believer in routine.

I'm thrilled, too, to see the Bun turning into a wee boy, but as his personality becomes stronger, I see he is going to give me a serious run for my money. Two is not going to be a breeze this time around, nor is even one, I think. It might not be so hard but that his strong will animates his strong limbs, and the combination is tough to handle. He is, it seems, happy as a clam until he's not and then - look out.

I am happy with the progress I've seen in the exercise programme I've been doing this summer, but unimpressed that I kept getting knocked off the rails and haven't finished the system as I had hoped before I go back to work. Still, I keep going back when I can and plugging away.

I am beyond happy to be done with the business of pumping milk for my Bun, boy am I ever. But also impatient with the time I know it will take for my breasts to sort themselves out after it. I want to wear nice bras, dammit, and need to replace the regular, sensible, T-shirt bras which are on sale everywhere right now, but I don't know what size I'll end out at after all is said and done, so I have to wait it out, something I'm not good at.

This last brings me to this past weekend, in fact. We went out of town for a big family wedding this weekend. I was so happy that I could wear a beautiful dress I bought not long before becoming pregnant with the Bun and had never had a chance to wear. It's beautiful, and cut just right for me, making me look teeny through the ribs and floating slowly away. having weaned, it would fit over my chest, and I could even wear a gorgeous bra under it. I was feeling like I had gotten to the point where I could be me again, the me who loves dressing up, who can find things she adores in her closet and go forth feeling put together, not the me of this past year who has slouched around in stretchy pants, making the other me shudder from the shelf she was placed on for a while. It felt good.

My children looked beautiful, Pumpkinpie angelic in her flower girl dress with golden locks pulled back in a way she never lets me do normally and the Bun in little-man pants and button-down shirt looking more like a Boy than I have ever seen before in his usual T-shirts. They were, too, beautifully behaved. Pumpkinpie walked down the aisle at just the right pace, looking neither scared nor insane (you know that weird fake smile kids have sometimes?), and Bun engaged the people behind us in silly games of blankie-toss and pass-it that kept him happy. I was proud of them, happy to have it all together for once, finally.

And then we went to get in the car to go back to the hotel for family photos and the reception, and Misterpie whispered to me that probably no one had noticed and that it had likely just happened, but that I had leaked. My seemingly empty breast had apparently responded to being squished by the Bun and his busy feet and squeezed out just enough milk to wet my beautiful new dress, leaving a tell-tale rim in the silk chiffon.

I'm not going to lie, I was devastated. Not only because I wasn't sure it could come out - silk can be ruined by a watermark, and the dress would be a write-off after one short wearing. Not only because it meant I had nothing to wear for the family photos and the rest of the evening but the next day's dress for brunch. As it happened, I managed to get it out in our room in time to wear it, thanks to the magic of hairdryers and handtowels.

No, though those things did upset me, I was more devastated by the setback to my psyche. I had felt so happy, so light, so like I was coming out of the coccoon of the last year a butterfly ready to open my newly-drying wings - and then that. That which grabbed those wings and dragged me back down to earth. That which told me that no, I was not done being a fat, breeding, lactating farm animal, and that cows don't really jump over the moon, so I should just stop being ridiculous and get back to the damn pasture, already. Yes, my internal voice is harsh, but the truth is that is how I feel in that first year of being heavy and bearing a mammoth bosom unrecognizable to myself, that year of being frumpy and utilitarian. I just don't feel like me through that, and it felt like a vicious smack to be yanked back to that me I had felt I could leave behind.

So yes. today my Pumpkinpie goes back to school, Misterpie goes back to work, the Bun goes to daycare. in a couple of days, I go back to work, too, so much undone, so not ready to walk away from it, not organized enough to make it easy to get there in the mornings as I had planned, not ready with my mind in full library gear yet. I can only hope it returns to me quickly, that the mind has a muscle memory of its own.