I accomplished not even a third of my to do list yesterday. It wasn’t an ambitious to do list by any means. I have been doing this thing where I break my tasks up into 15-20 minute chunks. It’s supposed to be more “doable.”
But somehow I cannot manage to do it.
And it’s not even like I was doing something fun instead, like lying on the couch watching Netflix.
The entirety of my accomplishments: I did two loads of laundry (mostly put them away) and made dinner. (Oh! And I made biscotti. Because apparently I have priorities and they are: baked goods.)
And in between, I spent approximately 2 hours arguing with my child about cleaning up, 2 hours consoling a crying baby or nursing him, and the rest of the hours seemed to evaporate into thin air.
I planned to take my 4-year-old on a nature walk. To play with him. To interact with him and enjoy his company. To build trains and laugh and talk about his first two days of preschool this year.
Instead, he spent the day testing my patience and I spent the day exploring the depths of my own patience (it’s somewhat shallow. But I didn’t let on. Most of the time.). Instead of being sweet and helpful, he’s becoming a bit of an uncooperative alien from time to time and I just want to know where they put my child and how I can get him back. I miss him.
I planned to exercise. I planned to work on some client deliverables. I planned to clean this place. I planned to at least change out of my pajamas.
Mike came home to a child throwing a tantrum and an incredibly messy house.
There were tears. Tears that I’m failing. My child is misbehaving and I don’t know how to fix it and what if it’s too late and my house is possibly never going to be clean again and I’m not enjoying and savoring babyhood as much as I should be. Tears. I’ve actually never had “mom guilt” until now.
I know someone reading this is going to say, “Be gentler with yourself! Stop being so hard on yourself! You have a baby!” And I’m trying. But also, this is just freaking hard. And not just the baby part. The transition to Mike working more is possibly even harder. I’m not used to being home alone with children this much and I still don’t love every moment of it.
Some days are wonderful and fun and we spend the day playing and cuddling. Gabe tries to play with Theo and I get a little time to accomplish things and we are all happy. There is less arguing and more laughing. There are fewer tears (from everyone) and more cooperation. And I guess I have to just take the flailing/failing weeks and hold out for the good ones.
Because as hard as these terrible days (and weeks! I didn’t even tell you about how I forgot to pack Gabe’s lunch and lost my car keys and the tornado) are, I would rather spend them flailing with these babies than be just about anywhere else. (Though I am super excited to start getting some child care up in here so I can work more solid hours. Amen.)
Today is a new day and thank goodness for that. It’s started with music and iced coffee, which increases the odds for success, right?