I said this before-some days are so so much better than others. Today is not one of those days. Scene: I’m trying desperately to get some work done but outside in our backyard my two hound dogs (dogs that I previously considered my children-dogs that ruled this house and my heart before the babies came) are racing around barking at a leaf blower; our daughter has been screaming for 45 minutes straight and our son just threw up for the fourth time all over the outfit I changed this morning. He is now naked in his car seat (apparently this is supposed to help with reflux) while my daughter has been relocated to a different part of the house where, incidentally, she continues to scream.
So, what do I do?
You have to talk to yourself-you have to talk yourself down because otherwise the frustration and the exhaustion rises up in your body like your son’s reflux and awfulness comes out. It is your version of spit-up. You scream, you throw things, you tell them to shut up, you put your dogs in the crate, you stand on your porch crying your eyes out watching as young people picnic in the park, go for leisurely runs or lay out in the sun. You lament the life you used to have and wonder where it went and why you did this. You think horrible thoughts. You act like a disgusting person. So I talk myself down. I take a deep breath and say “listen, they are crying, this is bad…real bad. Go upstairs and take a minute then solve the problem. “
First I put the dogs in the crate and remind myself that while they aren’t outside enjoying the sunshine, they are also not starving and eating chicken bones on the streets of calcutta. Second, figure out why daughter is crying. Shockingly she wants her pacifier (you would have thought there was tiger in the room gnawing her fingers with the volume of her screams). Third, accept that son is not wearing clothes but that he seems happy with his current situation. Fourth, write blog to make yourself feel better.
These days are really challenging. They challenge you physically, and they challenge you mentally. I get up close to a hundred times a day and put a pacifier back in a mouth, change a tsunami poop diaper that was just changed minutes ago, put on a clean outfit that was just washed but is now covered in regurgitated breast milk, wind a mobile up so that the nursery rhyme that makes me want to stab myself starts over again, wash out bottles and begin prepping for the next feeding. And then I look at the clock and realize that three hours have passed and that my day is headed to a close. What do I have to show for it? Happy, healthy babies.