Posts Tagged ‘ exhaustion ’

Why I Feel No Mom Guilt Right Now…

Thursday, March 28th, 2013

I wrote my post this week about having this nagging sense of guilt whenever I leave my kids.  I had some great comments from moms who validated how I feel. Whether right or wrong, it’s nice to know you’re not the only insane one.

Then this morning I think I figured out how to NOT feel guilty: Push yourself to the absolute limit of supermom. Then your psyche won’t f–k with you and throw guilt your way. Instead, it will tell you to flee as soon as the sitter arrives. Don’t look back. Go! Which I did.

Now I am sitting here having my haircut and colored. The gray is out of control. The back looks like a mullet. After this, I am going to get my hooves–the thing most people call feet–pedicured. My hands will get a much-needed manicure. Then my husband and I are going out to dinner and to our favorite massage place. I don’t feel badly at all. The reason? Because when you spend almost all week with your kids, culminating in today’s cluster-f–k you are so ready for a break all guilt goes out the window.

We started the morning off as usual: Up at 6:30. I made eggs for them; Emmett splattered his on the floor. Fia started coloring and Emmett tried to take her crayons. He pulled her hair (his latest thing). She started wailing. This is in addition to the usual 7 head bumps he has from knocking against our table, the face plant that inevitably leads to a bloody lip at least 3 times a week and the screams of agony from them both for taunting the cat to the point of getting scratched.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Around 10, I needed to get out. We live right near Griffith Park that has just about everything. I figured the little train and pony ride would be easier than the massive zoo. We loaded up and drove down the hill.

A lot of it was great. Emmett had his first horse ride. I walked beside him, stepping in horseshit with my flip-flops. 

Then we went to ride the train. The ticket line was a mile long. We waited. And waited. We were getting close when Fia said, “Mama I have to go to the bathroom. I can’t hold it.” Crap. We left the line and ran across the parking lot so she could go pee. I dangled Emmett in one arm so he wouldn’t lick the bathroom floor. The kid is a menace. A cute one, but good god he never stops. He is into everything. This is what it means to have a boy. I had no idea.

After the bathroom Fia decided she wanted something to eat before the train ride. We stood in the longest, most inefficient line run by the Parks and Rec department. We finally got our turn. All she wanted was cheese fries. While they were apparently growing and cutting up the spuds to fry, Fia took off running and did a face plant right on the concrete. Shit. She starts bawling. My sciatica has been acting up. But being supermom, I had no choice. I picked them both up and walked back across the parking lot to the car.  I grabbed the stroller and plopped Fia in. Though Em is the one I really need to chain down.

Throughout this I remained calm. Even chipper. I deserve an Emmy.

We went back to get our food. I sat down and took a bite. The cheese fries were spicy. WTF? The sign didn’t say “spicy cheese fries.” But they are. You know, that fake nacho kind? Maybe they won’t notice. Wrong. “Mama, it’s too spicy!” Fia screamed. Emmett just threw his glob on the sidewalk where it won’t disintegrate for a century (did you know Velveeta can survive a nuclear attack? And that when they make it in the factory it’s a big gray gelatinous rectangle? In case you weren’t sure, the yellow color is fake.)

I’ve been trying to do this Mediterranean diet to keep healthy. Gloppy, goopy fake cheese is definitely not on the list. But what can I do? I sit there slowly licking blobs of cheese off, handing them the fries. It may have been the best part of my day.

Time for  the trains, then home. The ticket line is gone. Thank god. We  go up to the window. “Closed for lunch.”  Cue the wailing. I drag my now overtired, still hungry, hot, injured daughter and son to the car. I sit down as pain shoots through my lower back. I text my sitter. “Can you come tomorrow morning?”

Oh, I broke down and also got an ice cream sandwich. Emmett’s first. What a milestone!

 

Add a Comment

34 Weeks, 5 Days and Counting

Thursday, December 22nd, 2011

He's the size of a Cantaloupe

Had my doctor appointment today. Not much to report, except that Little Leroy has his foot in his mouth. Literally. He’s a contortionist with his toes jammed up against his mouth and a hand behind his neck. And judging from his constant movement, he’s an acrobat too. He never sits still.

They estimate his weight to be 5 pounds, 11 ounces. So I’m on target to have around an 8-8 1/2 pound baby. I seriously don’t know how my stomach is going to stretch much more. I am really feeling the weight of this pregnancy. And the exhaustion. This is like the final stretch of a marathon–but one that as soon as you finish, you dive into a triathlon. It’s hard to know what to wish for: not being pregnant anymore or a few more precious weeks of decent sleep sans burp clothes and feedings.

I wish I could scan in the ultrasound picture, as it’s in 4-D and really pretty cool. But our scanner doesn’t work.

This may be the most uninteresting blog I’ve ever written. But I feel like a bowling ball and it’s the best I can do. Will post a pic of my huge belly later. Cheers.

Add a Comment

Moving Mid-Pregnancy: Anemia

Wednesday, December 7th, 2011

Here, he's the size of a cauliflower. And taking all my iron!

Author’s Note: Join me every Tuesday or Wednesday for “Moving Mid Pregnancy,” to read about my ongoing search for a new “everything” (from nannies to mom friends to health providers) while pregnant and living in a new city.

I have been so exhausted since the move to LA. I feel like I just can’t get caught up. Part of it is being pregnant while doing all this. But another big part is I’m anemic. I know this happens to a lot of women in pregnancy, though I was surprised when my doctor called with the news. I eat red meat, kale, and beans a lot. I also exercise and try and get as much sleep as the bouncing baby in my belly allows. Nonetheless, my numbers are way down.

I went to the health food store and bought Floradix. That’s what a few other women recommended to me. I ate hamburgers three nights in a row. And kale. I can’t tell if it’s making a difference, because it’s hard to distinguish between just being tired from pregnancy versus anemia. I guess the iron supplements can take awhile to kick in. Bleh.

The Senior Pregnancy Editor for Parents.com, Heather Morgan Shott, and blogger of High Chair Times is alsoanemic. So severe her doctor said she had never seen such low numbers. She became anemic while pregnant with Mason and remains so 15 months later.  Bleh. Not fun.

It  never ceases to amaze me what we women go through to bring babies into this world. Whether it’s pregnancy issues, (like my embarrassing pregnancy problem I wrote about…ack!) or labor and delivery itself, it’s pretty remarkable that we don’t rule the world. Seriously.

If anyone has any good tips out there on the anemic thing besides the things I’ve mentioned I’m sure all of us who share this issue would love to hear it.

Add a Comment

NYC Is Kicking My Mommy Butt

Monday, October 17th, 2011

Strolling Fia and Wayne (in bottom basket) home. A mere 50-pounds in total. Good times.

No doubt about it: working moms have it tough. But I think I have solved the riddle as to why NYC is kicking my SAH-freelance mommy butt.

Now don’t get me wrong: most of my friends are working moms and they have their own unique set of challenges. However, I’ve noticed in telling them we’re moving to LA I get the same confused look. I explain that city living is really hard with a baby. They look a bit puzzled. Here’s why:

(more…)

Add a Comment

Not A Vacation

Sunday, June 20th, 2010

Did I say last week that having a baby is like being on vacation? Really? Or did a ghost swoop in and steal my computer? Honestly, I went to the museum with a spring in my step, and left with a limp (along with a covering of cheerios, a film of sweat and a coating of baby formula).  Good times.

I thought the exhibit, Race to the End of the Earth (about Antarctica explorers), would put mommyhood into perspective. I guess it did when you consider I nearly sweated to death (instead of freezing to death).

There were four moms and four babes (five if you consider one of us was pregnant. And no, it wasn’t me!). Getting there on the subway took four different trains (thanks to some unplanned MTA service changes). Since this was my grand idea, I tried to keep it light. I told the moms that we would get good exercise schlepping our strollers up multiple stairs. And that seemed to work well, that is, until we had to keep changing trains. Usually you get a Good Samaritan to help carry your baby-in-stroller up the steps. But anyone who saw our caravan was sure to run the other way. Who could blame them?

Once at the museum, we headed straight for the food court. The babies needed things like pizza, an apple, a grilled cheese sandwich and hot water for a bottle. The moms needed a booth to collapse in. I couldn’t believe I was that person, sitting in a cafeteria at 11 a.m. and actually dreading getting up and walking.

tiredofhistory

We finally hit the exhibits. Fia promptly went to sleep at the stuffed mammals (the one thing I thought she would like). We were told the explorer exhibit I wanted to see was an IMAX. And if our babies cried, we’d have to leave. After great debate, we psyched ourselves up. Yes, our babies can do this. We’re going for it. We went to buy tickets, and were told conflicting info: no IMAX.  It was a walk-though. Though for us, it became more of a crawl through experience. But at this point, like the explorers, there was no turning back.

At one point, I was on all fours, chasing Fi under a yurt waving a clean diaper in the air. Nora’s baby Aiden had his first bout of separation anxiety when she ran (pregnant) to the bathroom for 30 seconds. We all danced and sang to him with zero consolation. Visitors scurried past us, not sure why we were performing a jig next to an igloo and a screaming baby. Courtney’s baby Teddy tried to eat the fake ice mountain (the plaque said “Do Not Touch”). Stephanie’s baby Gracen was flinging and contorting her body every which way in the stroller while screaming. In baby speak, she was yelling, “Let me out of stroller jail! I want to be an explorer!”

We exited and looked at our watches. I was sure 5 hours had gone by. Nope. Only 2 ½. How was that possible? We needed to kill more time. We left the museum and bee lined to the only place that could soothe our souls: The Shake Shack on 72nd street. One Shack-Dog later and my nerves began to recharge—at least enough for the subway ride home.

We moms try and get together every Thursday. Each week one of us picks what to do. After this excursion, I think I lost that privilege.

Oh, and P.S. by the time I hobbled home, I was too tired to even watch Oprah. So much for indulging myself with baby.

Add a Comment