Mutterings of a Mom Going Crazy

About a month ago, Peanut decided to punish us with one of the worst form of torture known to mankind.  Sleep deprivation.

Yeah, yeah, she probably didn’t do it on purpose… or so she would like us to believe.  Me, I’m starting to think she’s playing with us.

All of a sudden, overnight, bedtime became a nightmare.  She didn’t want to sleep, thus, none of us could either.  Crying, screaming, stomping of feet, begging, hair pulling was done by all.  Then gradually, she slept better and better and again, in a snap, she was not only sleeping through the night, but she was going down quietly. We haven’t had that since December.

Toddler torture is baaaaaaaaaack!

Last night, Peanuthead stood in her crib crying piteously on and off for 45 minutes with me going in at intervals to calm her down before she settled.

Yeah, she slept through the rest of the night.  But with one last cry here.  A cough or two there.  What this does is it keeps me on “alert” mode. Which means I don’t sleep soundly.  Which means I don’t get a full rest.  Which means I start becoming psychotic again.

People think I’m kidding, but I’m not when I say after one week of this, I literally want to stick a fork in my eyes.  Every couple of weeks of this, I want to bash my car into a wall.  I want to quit motherhood.  I start thinking, “That kid’s doing this on purpose!”  D’s more rational response of “Poor kid’s starting to get a cold” will have me snarling, “I don’t f’ing care!”

I just don’t have it in me anymore to withstand sleep deprivation.

Then, I really start becoming a bad mother and wife.  Yelling at Soso because she’s moving at her usual snail’s pace.  Banging pots because Peanut won’t eat the dinner she was eating just 2 seconds ago.  Telling D, no I do not want to give the Nut a bath or put her down.  EVER!!!!!  You do it all!!!

It really doesn’t help when I have no real life support what-so-ever.  I swear, where I live, everyone’s like the perfect moms.  They all have 3 kids who are in at least 3 activities each.  The children (the girls anyway) have nice hair in cute bows and braids. They bake cupcakes for their kids’ birthdays and bake sales.  They throw BBQs on the fly.  They chair and volunteer in multiple events.  They love being mothers, why else would they have given birth to 3 kids???  To add insult to injury, their hair looks nice and they are in shape!

AND.  No one ever complains.  Ever.  If anything, they are like, oh it’s not that hard.  WTF?

If they ever heard me ranting and raving, they probably would stop sending their kids over for playdates!  Me, at least one a month… Okay, twice.  Oh, who am I kidding, every other freaking day I’m crying, WTF was I thinking?  Why did I ever become a mother?  Why on earth did I think two was a good idea when I could barely keep my schmidt together with one?  Oh God, please help me! (That’s an actual prayer for help and not me being sacrilegious).

Fortunately, I do have one BFF who’s imperfect and one support person from my post adoption depression days who chime in to assure me that I’m not alone.  Other “bad” mothers exist all over the world, including my Stepford town.  I know I’m not alone, but in my town?  I feel very alone.

Will a bad mother please step up and go get a coffee with me?  Then, bring me back to your house to show me your two weeks of dirty laundry?  Your furniture covered in month old dust?  Tell me that in fact the coffee in your Starbucks coffee cup is vodka straight?  Oh, and lose your cool just one while dropping an f-bomb or two?  Please? Pretty please?

Why my daughter is eating cake for breakfast as I write this…

Because remember this post about our daily routine?   There’s like 50 steps and I’m realizing there are too many steps.  I’m not super mom, nowhere near and I missed a critical step.

I’m usually channeling Rainman like character, mumbling to myself.  Pack Peanut’s milk, check.  Her “My day” form, check.  D’s lunch, check.  Snack, check.  Fruit, check.  Breakfast, check.  S’s breakfast, check.  Milk for breakfast, check.  Lunch, check. Snack, check.  Fruit, check.  Lunch water, check.  You get the picture.

Yesterday, I made a serious mistake.  Soso asked for a hot breakfast and lunch and I would normally make her pick one.  Spend two whole minutes microwaving when every single minute counts?  No way.  May be the illness and the dull headache that’s been lingering left my brain fuzzy.  I just said, “Sure.”

I remembered the lunch, but the oatmeal was completely forgotten until my second attempt at driving to school.  Oh yes, second because we had already turned back for her library books.  I told her she will have to starve.  Typical Soso, “Okay Mommy.”

So, I rummaged around my lunch bag and all I had suitable was the piece of cake.  Kind of like a pound cake which is kind of like a muffin and a muffin is a legitimate breakfast item, right? Go with me here because I just realized that there are adults at her morning drop off who may or may not judge me.

*sigh*  I really wanted that cake, but it’s all probably for the best.  Really, I shouldn’t be eating cake after having been sick for two days. Nod yes, because I really wanted that piece of cake.

Stay-at-home Recap

This is my fourth week back at work and I never gave a recap of my stay-at-home experience.

Let’s just say that it wasn’t all awful, I avoided being a leading piece on the 6 o’clock news and I just had my last regularly scheduled session on the couch.

I’m glad I experienced it, but I wouldn’t want to do it again.  I certainly don’t miss it beyond superficial advantages like not having to wake up at the crack of dawn and not living a life on a regimented schedule.

The advantages to going to work are that I can sip my morning coffee, eat at least one meal slowly while sitting down on a chair, and I don’t have to be constantly afraid of being a 6 o’clock news item.

I say it in slight jest, but there were moments when I absolutely understood how a tragedy might happen.  Thank God for having a support system, including a wonderful understanding husband and a strong sense of self-preservation that helped me to recognize danger signs and be proactive about it.

I still have to be somewhat cautious.  When D asked me about going to a football game with Soso on Saturday, I couldn’t just say, sure!  I had to pause and think about it.  I had to mapped out the morning in my head.  She has Gymboree and we can stop by a store to kill some time.  Lunch and nap or nap and lunch and D will be back soon there after.  Okay, sure D, go have fun!

That will be my life for a while.  I’m still no where close to being comfortable and loving this life with a child who is extremely emotional and volatile.  I love Peanut, but I don’t love her personality.  I don’t love her loudness and her tears.  And honestly, I never will.  I don’t like loud, whiny teary children, period.  But I also accept that I could have given birth to this child and I would feel the same.  This isn’t an adoption issue so much as personality clashing issue and balancing second child issue.

Put the advantages and disadvantages on a balance scale and the disadvantages still far outweigh the advantages.  If I could turn back time, while keeping the memory of this experience, I still would.  But life doesn’t work that way and I try really hard to add up all the positives I can.  One day, it will all balance out, right?  And perhaps even tip on the side of advantages.