The text read: “Let’s do dinner Saturday night?”
Never has a simpler suggestion filled me with such dread.
Why? Because of the immaculately-planned moving parts involved in such a loaded question.
Always someone of the, shall we say, fashionably-late variety, my time management skills have improved exponentially after having a baby because I have to time everything in reverse.
Read MoreRemember me? Here I sit, sheepishly waving at you. It’s been a while.
What happened? Well, I decided to experiment with the land of the working 9-5 (9-8 really) mother…and lost all sense of time! I don’t know how you do it, working moms. Hats off to you. Between watching helplessly in horror every morning from inside a hurried steamy shower while my toddler opened all my Chanel nail polish bottles to amuse himself, to frantically texting plans for playdates while in the back of a cab en route to work, and rushing home at night only to inherit a freshly bathed, sweet-smelling, cranky little boy who was ready for bed, it just seemed like I needed to find another solution that fit our family.
I see I neglected to mention my husband, the one who received harried phone calls begging him to be home in time to take over from the nanny so we didn’t have to keep paying her time-and-a-half, the one who became so adept at ordering dinner from Seamless every night without complaint, and the one who took over all dog-walking duties. That one. I think he's glad to be allowed off the roller-coaster, along with my anxiety-prone doggy, who is just happy to have me back at home for now. Someone has to watch him skulk around all day, acting like a cat, after all.
I look at my many wonderful Superwoman friends who manage to juggle their careers with their families and think, “Wow! It IS possible, I just need to find the right thing!” which for me means flexibility. Also I REALLY missed not having the physical and mental prowess to sit down and think of anything to write to you, my one-sided penpals. So I took the summer off to regroup.
I’m happy to be back to Posh Pooping and I…pledge to poop frequently (and poshly)? Will that do? Shall we talk more about poop tomorrow? Because we’re going to. See you on Friday!
Oh and when I said I’d come home to a toddler who was “ready for bed,” I meant MY bed. Ah yes, there comes a point, usually after approximately 10 midnight visits to my room in a 3-hour span, where even I give in and just move over. I am ashamed to say now his little starry toddler pillow has won a permanent spot in between ours. My little vampire has risen once again. And again. And again. FML.
Actually, don’t FML. It’s September 11th and it’s been a depressing day in the news. Seeing all these families grieve not only makes my heart break and relive every second from that day, but more importantly makes me fervently appreciate all the loved ones I do have.
Hug those you have a little tighter tonight, to honor all those who can’t.
#parentingfail #notready #sendhelp
When this shirt showed up as a sponsored post on my FaceBook newsfeed, I thought to myself, How Do They KNOW?! These social media algorithms are creepy.
I don't really need the shirt though, because the thought is permanently etched on my face.
Let me set the scene for you. It's 6.15am. I've been up since 5.30 (I was also up at 2.30am, by the way). I'm hunched over the couch (scrolling through Facebook, naturally) with a 3-month-old laying across my lap. He's finally back asleep. It would be peaceful were it not for my 3 year old, right next to me, jumping up and down on the sofa. Side-eyeing him, he looks like he has a perilously saggy diaper, and I'm wondering what the next landing will bring. He needs to be watered and fed. He wasn't supposed to be up for another hour. I was supposed to go back to bed. When I try explaining this to him he points to the lightening sky and says "No-but Mommmee it's Good Morning Tymmme!" Right he is.
The nanny isn't due to arrive until 8, at which point I'll be wide awake.
There are lots of days where I wake up to wrangle the toddler and the baby and I think to myself, how on earth did I get here? Where did these tiny people come from? How am I supposed to shape their lives and futures, and turn them into responsible adults? Isn't that rather a tall order?
I go to a parent-teacher event at my son's preschool, where I have little sidebars with myself while I'm talking to the other parents. They're so grown up and put together! And I feel a teenager with a bigger wardrobe allowance! I'm not sure how they could possibly take me seriously. Then I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and realize, I look just like them. I'm in my early 30's, I have TWO kids, and somehow our apartment hasn't burnt to the ground. I'm not an impostor!
That feeling I had when we had been released from the hospital after delivery, walking past the nurses station realllllly slowly, waiting for someone to say "Hey! Stop! You can't leave with that baby! You're not ready!" never quite goes away.
Do you ever have moments like these? It's bewildering.
I seem to have developed preternatural hearing.
I swear, even in my deepest sleep, I can distinguish between the roar of the air-conditioner, Hudson’s snuffles, and the telling mini-creak of the floorboards when tiny feet carry my sleepy toddler into my room so we can all “be to-ge-ther”. At the sound of him approaching I usually get up and am ready to escort him back to his room, no matter what the time.
Recently, he has become something of a master negotiator. First he tried perseverance. After the fifth visit to my room, I could see him smiling every time I led him back to his bed. He knew he was just going to give it 10 minutes and try again. He knew he would break me in a battle of wills. Toddlers are not to be screwed with. They will make you PAY. Now he tells me in a surprisingly clear voice “I just wanna lie down in your bed a LITTLE BIT…” It’s 3 a.m. and I’ve done the dance between our rooms 7 times already. I want to cry. Or laugh. I’m not sure if I’m super proud of him or if I hate him just a little bit. But I’m hardly likely to argue with him. There’s no reasoning with a toddler. Smart SOB.
I KNOW if I bring him to bed, I stand no chance against his hard little fists and fidgety legs. It’s really cute to feel his tiny hand across my throat in the morning, but it’s a bit alarming in the middle of the night. Once the sun rises, a sweet little foot on my back is adorable. But not ALL. NIGHT. LONG. And not when that foot ends up in my pajama bottoms (Sorry for getting mad at you, husband), and not when I have to listen to an accompanying chorus of Andy harrumphing in annoyance (it seems our little guy likes to furiously rub his feet on a hairy chest). Hey, if you’re willing to get up and put him back in his room - go for it! Yay Papi! No? Oh, well then. Stop your near-silent judgement and move over.
Lately though, since the baby came along, my abilities have diminished. I can’t discern if the sounds I’m hearing are from Andy (who sleeps with a pillow over his face as insurance against all child-led noise), or from Hudson, who has a habit of choosing the dead of night to continuously lick his paws/drag his face across the carpet/bark at phantom intruders. Or is it the new baby, who has some weird sleep snort thing going on, which I’m obsessed with? All this has me feeling insecure in my powers, and I find myself randomly sitting up multiple times a night, making sure I know which sounds are coming from every creature in the room.
Among the normal cacophony on any given night, the toddler’s nocturnal visits have become a little creepy. I haven’t been able to hear him approaching at all. I must be so sleep deprived that I faint and miss the telltale creaks. Sometimes I open my eyes and he’s just…there. Like last night, when he went all Paranormal Activity on me. It was the middle of the night, I was fast asleep but I felt my skin prick…like someone was watching me. I opened my eyes, saw him looming ominously over me, and screamed! A second later, I realized it was just my child, silently staring. My harmless, loveable three-year-old. Not a demon hell-bent on torturing me (although one could argue that they are one and the same). Nonplussed by my scream, he proceeded with the business at hand.
“I want to sweep wit you.”
“You can’t, let’s go back to your bed.”
“But I want to SWEEP wit you.”
“I know baby, let me cuddle you in your bed”
“But I just came to cuddle you in YOUR bed.”
Since I never heard him coming into my room, I didn’t get out of bed. Hence, I was attempting to negotiate with this sharp-minded individual (who really should be wearing pin-striped pajamas) from the drowsy warmth of my cozy duvet and pillow-top mattress. Hardly a position of power. My sleep threatening to leave me at any second, I hastily agreed and moved aside. I wonder if tonight he’ll just lie there and be still. Yes! Tonight he’ll be fine! I’m so optimistic I’m starting to feel giddy. Fool.
Up I get to fetch his little toddler pillow and his TeddyCat (it’s neither a Teddybear, nor a Cat. It is, in fact, a dog. But he refuses to believe me and so we have the first hybrid-cuddly toy ever. Doing great things for the Trans (species) community since 2012). Upon my return, I find he has made himself very comfortable on my down-filled Frette pillow and is already sleeping peacefully. On my side of the bed.
Andy doesn’t even know he’s in here (or he’s pretending like he doesn’t know). I can’t very well leave! Or maybe I can. Toddler pillow in hand, TeddyCat in the other, I use my foot to push the baby bassinet into the other room and tuck myself into the twin bed.
Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.