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There is never a good time

This four-children-thing is kicking my butt. I thought it was all kicked out already, but apparently not. I keep thinking the baby took all my free time, which is so unfair because - what "free time"? When was there free time? I must've missed it. I want to renegotiate!

I want to say I forgot what babies are like, but I didn't forget. I knew it, yet what difference does it make? None. I look at Damian's cranky face and I think: I am so over this! I am so over this babyish nonsense. Grow up already!

Damian is a sweet smiley high maintenance child. See how I packaged the resentment into some extra cozy words there? Just like a real mommy blogger. He naps about 25 minutes at a time. It takes longer to get him to sleep than he actually naps. The time in between he spends upset if he is not being carried by someone, preferably by a parent. He can tell if you are just a helpful 9-year-old girl and he doesn't like it. I don't want to go into more details here because thinking about it makes me tired and I'm already so tired, and over it. I'm so over it.

The other day I was waiting in the pediatrician's office and I could feel drops of sweat running down my lower back...again. It keeps happening and I can never do anything about it because I'm holding the baby or running to the tram or making food or... If I had to pick something to symbolize the last few months or more, maybe the last year, it would be that. My whole self being squeezed out of the last drops of energy. I don't even have time to notice how tired I am, I can't scratch my itch, I'm just going going going...

My life is full. Full of these people and I love it. I love them. It's a circus, but it's beautiful. Beautiful and so hard. Everything is wrapped in thorns. I wish I was an artist and there was a way to make something, some kind of poetic statement that would accurately express how difficult this life is. It would show its beauty at the same time and I could look at it and be reminded. I imagine this would feel like fulfillment...and relief. I'm not an artist though and so I am mostly expressing myself by being cranky and whiny and yelling at everyone because no one is sufficiently feeling sorry for me. I am at the end of my rope! Why is no one calling 911? Or better yet, the spa! Call the spa, I must go forth and relax!


Posted at 02:16 PM on November 12, 2012
Comments

Oh dear... Linton, my youngest who is now 8 (time flies!!) was a high maintenance baby by my standards (nursed every 2 hours 24/7 for 5 months and needed a pacifier and vigorous bouncing to fall asleep), but I think Damian is way more high maintenance by the little you describe.

I hope your daughter doesn't feel frustrated when she tries to help and the baby prefers mom or dad.

I cannot imagine mothering four kids, my mother-in-law did it, four boys too... but it was in Brazil and she had domestic help. So, I feel for you! I hope it does get a bit better eventually. In the meantime, thanks for sharing. The post was bittersweet, I think you write well, as always.

Posted by Dinka at November 12, 2012 7:51 PM

I CANNOT believe that I wrote **YOUR** name in the comment box up there instead of mine, I'm sorry!! I think I'm brain dead right now... sigh.

My apologies!!

Posted by Lilian (previous comment too!!) at November 12, 2012 7:52 PM

Lilian, I didn't even notice!

Posted by Dinka at November 13, 2012 5:09 AM

Hey Mama - Wish you were here, I know a great spa and a babysitter that LOVES the Souzek kids! I know that totally does not help, but I wish I could! Skype coffee date soon???

Posted by Bec at November 13, 2012 4:08 PM

Glad you hadn't noticed, Dinka. ;)

Posted by Lilian at November 13, 2012 8:40 PM