When naptime is lost...

Last week I tried to get the same five items off my "to do" list; I tried for five days straight.  My son napped well for one of those days, during which time my baby girl napped for 20 minutes.  In response to my nearly-in-tears recital of one day's events wherein I explain to my husband, "he didn't nap", he says, "uh-huh. okay."  No, I'm sorry, but it is most certainly not "okay".

It took me a while to figure out what was happening in this situation to leave me on the brink of sobbing, while my husband stood there with a rational "so-what-would-you-like-me-to-do-about-it" look on his face.  It's the promise of a nap that is so overwhelmingly disappointing when lost.  It's the shattering of that back-of-your-mind-not-quite-on-your-consciousness thought that if you just make it to through to mid-afternoon you will have at least an hour, if not more, of mind-numbing quiet.  An hour, if not more, of time to do WHATEVER: the laundry that needs folding; the laundry that needs doing; the dishes in the sink; the dishes in the dishwasher; the floor that's dirty; the bills stacked up; the mail stacked up; your email unopened; the phone calls to make; a quick shower; a brief nap; an uninterrupted trip to the bathroom; put away groceries; put away laundry; cook something; clean up after cooking something; put away the folded laundry; listen to YOUR music (even if it is with headphones); or just sit quietly and regroup.  Sometimes it's hard to settle on what to do first, but when you lose that longed for time, all you can see before you and all you can hear in your head is what you are NOT getting done.  And if you're exhausted, as we nearly all are, and you longed for your own little nap time, well now you're a little cranky too.

Last week I sent this text to several friends of mine:

"Naptime" today: I pull up at the house at 1:30pm, both kids are asleep.  I bring the baby (and all the random STUFF) from the car.  I bring my sleeping toddler inside.  He wakes slightly, wants to know the exact location of his new digger truck.  Seems to fall back to sleep.  I'm about to sit down when the baby wakes screaming.  I coax her back to sleep w/paci, rocking of carseat, and eventual backup assistance of "swing converter for car seat thingy".  I go to the bathroom.  My toddler wakes up.  Needs the bathroom.
(Yaddayaddayadda), back in his bed for continued nap...oh no he needs the bathroom again (repeat yadda).
The baby wakes screaming.  I take her to nurse on the sofa.  My son wanders in "all done seep"; riiiiight.  I take him back.   The baby, left sitting in the living room, gets hysterical (the kind with the silence before the scream, where her mouth is open to cry and nothing is coming out).  Now my son is gated in (more hysterics) and she's nursing...

My husband wonders why I can't get done A, B, or C "while THEY are sleeping".
I think my husband needs surveillance video to comprehend my days...

Mommy Dearest...

Lately I seem to be having the same conversation over and again, except with different friends of mine.  Everyone with a child between the ages of 2 and 4 seems to be on edge these days, especially those with an additional younger child (or more) in the household.  Our conversations circle around the same issues and the stress and exhaustion and barely-hanging-on strain in our voices echo each other.  The way we live in our society today, there is a solitude that comes with at-home parenting, a solitude for which I was not entirely prepared.  Even if we make for ourselves a community of friends to fill in for out-of-town family, most are still a car ride away, and rarely do we get time to have a decent, uninterrupted phone conversation.  Every at-home parent I know, most especially those with more than one child, races out of the house in the morning, panic at their backs lest they wind up in the house all day with no one and nothing but the children and the four walls.

But there are times, inevitably, when we are most definitely alone.  Times when we are home and it's just us and the kids...and nothing seems to go right, and everything seems to push to the limit our tolerance for stress:

You're giving the baby a bath, in her infant tub that is sliding around within the larger tub.  She's hysterical because she only slept 20 minutes all day, and her sudsy little body is so slippery that as she twists and turns and fights your every attempt to wash her (and stands up screaming...at 6 months!) you think any second she's going to smack her little head on something.  Your toddler runs into the bathroom, slamming his truck against the back of your leg as you're crouched on the floor next to the tub, drenched at this point.  He pokes the baby's eyes and, as she's screaming, turns around and slams shut the bathroom door, effectively locking himself in with you and the hysterical baby in the 3x3 bathroom, and begins to scream himself.  Your head feels like it's going to explode and you snatch the soaking wet baby against yourself, open the door and toss your toddler on the other side, screaming "GET OUT" before you lock it shut against him.  The baby's still screaming and covered in soap and you now have to kneel back down and fight her through the rest of her bath before you can dry her, nurse her, and hope to the heavens that she pass out with exhaustion.  As you sit down to nurse her, your toddler comes angelically into the room with the baby's pacifier, sweetly explaining that he brought it for you.  Your last response to him still rings in your ears and you feel horrible for losing yourself in the moment.  "I love you," you say as you kiss him.  "I love you," he says and wanders off.  "I don't want to be THAT kind of mom", you think to yourself.

But if you're already worried about the kind of parent you are, chances are slim that you'll morph into some Joan Crawford nightmare-of-a-mother.  I try to assess my reactions to situations and make an effort to apologize when I've over reacted.  At the end of the day, parenthood is an evolving role; all one can do is learn daily and move on.  Besides, if you want to see just how far you really are from "THAT" kind of parent, pick up a copy of PUSH by Sapphire, or rent the film version, "Precious", and reassess your "bad" day.