Lazy Douche Enablers: Veronica of Sleepless Nights

Lazy Douche Enablers write guest posts for me every other Tuesday. That way, I can be a much better… you guessed it: Lazy Douche. I’ve been such a LD lately, that I hadn’t been posting the LD posts people wrote for me awhile back. One might say I don’t NEED the help. Regardless… Today’s Enabler is Veronica, of Sleepless Nights. In fact, she wrote this for me in March. I had to one-up her to show her that she can’t out-lazy douche me by holding it until September. Yup, I suck that hard.

Holy Crap, It’s Nearly March?

I looked at my calendar today and nearly had a fit. It’s almost March and I promised Lotus that I would guest post for her all the way back in December. I mean sure, there was this little thing like me giving birth in the middle of January, but hell, I should have had something put together by now, right?

It’s not like I don’t have the time or anything, Isaac spends most of his days sucking on my boobs, so surely I would be able to tap SOMETHING out. [Heh, kinda like I am doing now while he feeds.]

Anyway, back to the topic at hand.

I write a blog called Sleepless Nights. I have a toddler who doesn’t sleep very well and a newborn who isn’t much better. The only difference is the toddler learned to sleep without my nipple in her mouth a little while back. Therefore, I feel sort of qualified to talk about lack of sleep.

You know what drives me batshit insane? When I’m sitting on the couch at 8pm, trying to breastfeed a fussy baby to sleep, occasionally stopping to let him bounce on my stomach/suck on my nose, and the news comes on touting some crap about sleep.

‘Lack of sleep can be extremely detrimental to your health…’

[You think I don't know that Jackass? I haven't slept in 24 hours here]

‘…and new studies have shown that sleeping in of a weekend can actually help reduce the harm lack of sleep causes…’

[Keep going idiot. What about those of us WHO HAVE SMALL CHILDREN AND CANNOT SLEEP IN?! Do we not count?'

'...so take the chance to catch up on sleep whenever you can.'

[Splutter cough cough cough curse]

This is where Nathan broke in and nearly cost himself his manhood.

‘See sweetheart? You can’t complain when I sleep in of a weekend now, because they have proved that it has health benefits!’

WTF? So what, I’m IMMUNE to lack of sleep simply because I pushed a baby out of my vagina 5 weeks ago? You know, lack of sleep doesn’t affect me anymore because I am a mother? Seriously, just call me superfuckingwoman. While I’m at it I will just do all the housework and cooking too, because damn if you don’t work! No matter that I am up all night with a fussy baby and awake all day with a whirlwind toddler.

The bitterness. I have it.

And I suspect I am not the only one.

Sleep deprived, with baby vomit caked in the crook of my arm [I suspect there is some in my ear too, but I'm not game to check] and the day stretching before me; an endless stream of feeds and food prep and housework and ohmyholyhell can you pick that back up and DON’T throw that at Isaac and PICK those books back up and if you tip that potty on the floor again I might just LOSE IT, the grass always looks greener over there.

Sure he might get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, a shower every day and actual conversation with adults, but me? I get to smell the top of my sons head as he nuzzles into my breast. I get to run my hands through soft-as-silk hair. I get toddler kisses and declarations of ‘I love MUMMY!’ I get the soggy cuddles after tantrums and the rare as rare baby smiles.

Even better though? I get to palm off all the crappy toddler nappies ‘because when was the last time you changed one of Isaac’s?’

And that my friends, is priceless and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Sleep or no sleep.

______________________________________________________

Veronica is near and dear to my heart. She has been my friend since before the birth of “Sarcastic Mom,” enduring my Myspace Blog posts, and helping me gain the courage to actually start a real website. She was my first commenter, and she has stuck through with me this whole time. She is a beautiful, compassionate, strong, funny, and talented woman. I am honored to call her my friend. Go check in on her at Sleepless Nights – if she’s actually catching a nap for once in a row, just tuck her in, okay?

The not good enough truth.

I used to think that my intense desire to have children, to be a mother, was enough.

It’s not.

You have to have more than desire. You have to be more than needy.

I face a truth over and over again: I am not a good enough mother.

It’s in the details. I am not good enough in Situation A with Process B. I am not good enough at modeling Behavior XYZ. I do not respond to Tantrum of Intensity #524 with the proper level of Calming Voice Version #683.

It’s in the Overall. Good Mother = Someone Else. Me = Poser.

Yes, I love him. Love is not enough. It just isn’t.

Often, I tell myself maybe it is enough that I try and that I love him very much and that he is a happy boy most of the time.

“No, you are wrong,” I jab back. I am not a good enough mother and I need to prove it to myself with more than emotion.  I must prove it with logic, too.  So I make a list of reasons that indicate I am possibly a good parent.  I also make a list of reasons why I am clearly not a good parent. Inside my head I hold them next to one another.

The disparity is overwhelming.

One list is mocked by the other.

One list loses. The other list wins. One list shrinks into a corner, dwarfed by the other. The other list is tall and wide and heavy and has big, mean muscles. One list whimpers that it wants to be better, but it doesn’t know how. The other list looks down at me with a smirk on its face, triumphantly crushing me.

Standing in the hulking shadow of all the reasons why I am not a good parent, I can’t deny the truth born out by the comparison.

The Truth.  About how I’m not good enough.

I’ve been telling myself that truth in a million different ways my whole life.

This is just another version of that “truth.”

You know what really mind jacks me when I’m applying The Truth in this scenario nowadays?

I grieve my lost pregnancies, finding it impossible to let those babies go.

But in this past year and a half, I have had the thought countless times already that, somehow, it is good that I did not have them.

Because I would not have been a good enough mother to them.

And that is a terrible, painful thought to have.

The guilt is unbearable some days.

The Truth hurts.

Crazy crap a mother says out loud.

Just a sampling.

I said every one of these damn things out loud in the span of 3 days last week.
Not necessarily in this order.
Enjoy.

• Do NOT put that in your mouth.
• Don’t sit on the table.
• Stop yelling.
• Pee goes in the toilet.
• That’s not nice.
• The dog doesn’t like to be kicked.
• No matter how many times you scream, you’ll still have to take a nap.
• But that’s what you just asked me for.
• You pooped in your pants?
• STOP.SAYING.NO.
• Why did you put that in there?
• No, I won’t kiss your poo poo bum. (????)
• Hahaha. Ok, really, don’t honk Mommy’s boobies. Hahahahahaha.
• Seriously, you really did just ask me for this exact thing, why are screaming no when I give you what you wanted?
• That is NOT edible.
• You can’t fly!!!
• I have no idea what you’re talking about. Repeating doesn’t help.
• If you stand on that again I will take it away from you.
• No, we are not going in the car. We just got out of it.
• No, Daddy doesn’t drive a bus. He RIDES on it.
• You are being too loud.
• You need to go make a pee pee. Yes, you do! Then why are you dancing and holding your crotch?
• Get your fingers out of your mouth.
• Why did you spit on that?
• No, you may not spank my bum.
• You already flushed 3 times.
• Yes, you have to wash your hands.
• Please do not lick your hands.
• It’s ok to use the toilet in public, it won’t hurt you.
• No, that is a tampon. Give it back to Mommy, please.
• Do not fill up your mouth with milk and then let it drool out onto the floor on purpose.
• That is not dry.
• Don’t hit people with your head!
• What is that smell?
• I have no idea what you’re trying to say. I’m as frustrated as you are, REALLY.
• The dog also cannot fly. Really.
• It’s “WaNt the foRk,” dear. The N and the R really need to be pronounced.
• Some people don’t like it when you yell at them about their boobies.
• Say you’re sorry. You need to say, “Sorry for locking you out, Mommy.”
• That is NOT where you use your crayons.
• You are not supposed to ride on that.
• It’s not nice to smear your poop on the mirror.
• The ball will not come out from under the table no matter how loudly you scream at it.
• I will not respond to you if you don’t stop growling and screaming.
• Time out for 2 minutes for *insert an endless list of reasons*
• If you keep screaming, you’ll get another 2 minutes.
• I think you just said NO for the 239,785,349,823rd time. Stop it.
• Do NOT tell ME to stop it.
• Nice.
• Mommy needs a time out now.
• It is going to last MUCH LONGER THAN 2 MINUTES.
• And I am totally going to scream so I’ll get more time.

“There’s a first time for everything…”

That’s what they say. Today, I had a first time. And it led me pondering along a time-line of them.

There’s a first time to realize that you can find someone else in the world you love more than you thought was possible, even when they piss you off, and you are willing to be there for them forever.

There’s a first time to realize that you’re ready for something completely different, and brave enough to let it grow.

There’s a first time to realize that you are not the most important person in your own life. And it’s okay with you.

There’s a second time to realize that you can find someone else in the world you love more than you thought was possible, even when they piss you off, and you are willing to be there for them forever.

You’d do anything to take their pain.

Their joy is your joy.

There’s a first time to realize that it’s possible to love the hardest thing you’ve ever done (or will do) more than anything else you’ve ever done (or will do).

There are many times in your life when your heart does flip flops and your chest gets tight…. And it’s good.

There are many times in your life when your heart does flip flops and your chest gets tight…. And it’s bad.

And then there are those times when you find out that those two things can occur simultaneously.

Today, my heart did flip-flops and my chest got tight. And it was good because I am excited about doing something I haven’t done in a long time; I’m excited to travel and have some time to myself.

Today, my heart did flip-flops and my chest got tight. And it was bad, because I left my little boy with someone else for the first time in our lives.

I know it is not a bad thing. I know he is safe, happy, and loved where he is right now. But my heart will do some funky flip flops until I see him again.

This first time smiling at him while I waved goodbye, knowing I would not see him for days was hard. This first time driving away from him on purpose for so long and so far was not easy.

These first tears once he was out of sight were quite effortless.

He is my littlest bff and I’m absolutely ready for our first time saying hello again. I may just kiss all the skin off of his face.

I’m sure when his first tantrum after I return rings in my head with its usual intensity, I’ll have my first time wondering what the hell was so bad about traveling without him. But then we’ll find something to laugh about, have some tickles and make some fart noises. And we’ll get right back to our same old, usual routine of mommy and son.

I can’t wait. Because the well-worn, happy non-firsts that we take for granted together every day are the blessings of my life.

**************

Now, Chicago? Get ready.  Thanks to the awesometastic entities you can view at the footer of my website, me and my bewbs are traveling to this conference together this year. And tight chest or not, It’s On.

Farterworks

Even though we took these photos over a month ago (dude, who keeps letting time move by SO FAST?) I thought I’d share them with you, because they kind of crack me up.

This was a Saturday morning Mac Photo Booth play session with Braden (hence the fabulous photo quality, *snort*). He is both silly and fun as well as intensely moody, whiny, and dramatic.

I really have no idea whose child this is. *wink*

smiling pretty for the camera

after being scolded for slapping the keyboard

making fun of him for whining

giving in to the giggles after the tears

I adore hanging out with him and being silly. He is displaying such a fabulous sense of humor these days, which makes it even more fun.

And by sense of humor, I mean that he is cracking me up by replicating my incorrigible taste for fart jokes, with indelible favorites like:

*the sound of fireworks outside*
Him: “Ooooooh, Farter!”
Me: “No, silly, you know those are fireworks!”
Him: Pause. *giggle* “Oooooooh, FARTER-WORKS!” *raucous laughter*
Me: *SMPL*

Gotta love havin’ a little boy. Especially when you are secretly one, too.

When that moment of toddler stubborn brat behavior is AWESOME.

Definitely should have gone through his bookshelf and reclaimed this one already.

I won’t lie and say I haven’t seen it and thought about that already.  I have.  I’ve noticed it over and over again.  Why did I leave it there?  Honestly, I have no idea.  Maybe I WANTED him to ask me about it.  Maybe it’s just like the bottle of Prometrium.  Or maybe it’s simply another one of those things I haven’t had the energy for lately.  I wouldn’t doubt it – that list seems to grow exponentially.

When Braden brought this book, “I’m a Big Brother!” to me to read yesterday, it was one of those Big Sigh Moments.  What was I going to do?  It’s not like I could tell him, “Oh, no, Braden.  Mommy can’t read this to you because you AREN’T a big brother!  Mommy’s attempts at elevating you to that status were what The Internet likes to call a FAIL.  In other words, Braden, U can haz babee bruthr? #NO.”

So, I just did the Internal Tamping of Emotions and took the book, opened it, and prepared to read it to him.  With perhaps a few edits, or maybe even an entirely fake story.  “This totally looks like a baby, but it’s really a rocket ship headed for outer space!  Weee!”

He had one of those ultra I CAN DO IT MYSELF moments suddenly, however, and he snatched the book back because he had decided he didn’t want me to read it after all.  He wanted to read it to himself.  He employed toddler gibberish style reading… something along the lines of, “Sebbah litte bear and a shhh shhh bee bee alla beb and too and no no no hahahahaha, then daddee so hehe see? Hahahaha!”

Much better than anything I was going to make up.  And definitely a moment when I was so glad that he inherited my his dad’s control issues.

I ate snot. I win.

Being sick in Spring is not fun, wonderful, or delightful.

Being sick in Spring while your toddler is also ragingly sick? Well, that’s about as fun as being a balloon animal at a drunk porcupine convention.

And let me add, you have really not LIVED until you have been force-fed a handful of Honey Nut Scooters (generic brand of Cheerios, for you rich assholes) coated in toddler snot. Until you experience this, your soul just has.not.awakened.

I could be wrong though, since my brain is stuck in this mucky haze which is part “I WANT TO KILL YOU ALL RIGHT NOW WITH MY BARE HANDS” (menstrual hag) and part “OMG I AM DYING, I KNOW IT” (pathetic, whiny, sick douche).

I just… well… he has been SO miserable and sad lately. And his nose has been steadily and continuously leaking sick toddler snot in copious amounts. I try to keep up with it, but most of the time he beats me to it. That little hand just darts up and swipes it away.

And while, yes, this is gross, it’s not nearly as disgusting as that tendency some kids have to try mimicking a cow by sticking their tongues on up into the Snot Fest. So, I’m thanking my stars, here, that my kid hasn’t thought of that yet. (We’ll talk about how he licked snot off his fingers another day, okay?)

Anyway, today, he ran into the living room from the kitchen with a handful of his cereal. He made a bee-line for me on the couch, and since I was kind of slumped over towards the floor (yeah, I’m that pathetic) he had full access to my face. Which delighted him, and he just started shoving the cereal into my face.

He had this sparkle in his eyes as he crammed every last piece in my mouth.  Delight was painted across every inch of his face.  There was absolutely no way in the world I could bring myself to stop him.

His little fingers kept going in with the cereal.  I could detect the flavor of sweet, delicious cereal.

As well as the lovely sensation of cold, sticky, wet sick toddler snot.

And I just kept repeating in my head, “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay, just don’t think about it, don’t think about it, it’s going to be okay….”

I ate snot for my kid today.  WHAT DID YOU DO FOR YOUR KID?

Stripes at my back, my heart on my sleeve.

Today’s Photohunt Theme: “Stripes”

my favorite stripes in a warm time
run up behind me in a line
I lay back and close my eyes
the time of solace and rest flies

quite soon I hear the little feet
marking out a quick-paced beat
a giggling is drawing near
the favorite sound my ears could hear

my eyes open and see his face
filling up my eye-view space
he’s grinning, asking to join me
I reach out, pull him up quickly

now a different kind of peace unfolds
of tickling, laughter, hugs and holds
and just as rest can make me whole
this connection refuels my soul.