That Damn Wall

Sunday, February 8, 2015



It's a chilly Sunday morning, and I'm sitting in a corner of Starbucks with my Tall Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte, half of my pajamas and unbrushed hair. I usually write at home--this "bring your laptop to Starbucks" is not my thing. Most of the time I try to get something down before I go to bed. But this week has been another tough one and each night I found myself half asleep on the couch trying to watch DVR'd TV and then carrying my tired ass to bed by 9 p.m.
The week didn't start out on a good foot: Lucca was sick Sunday night and started a downward spiral as the evening went on. We're incredibly lucky that in 16 months, he's barely fallen ill, but we knew that he wasn't feeling himself when all he wanted to do was crawl in our laps and snuggle. This kid does NOT snuggle. We've tried, begged and pleaded to just snuggle and lay on the couch with him, but he's always at top speed running around the house, kicking a soccer ball, tearing open cabinets. The rest of that night was spent laying close to him, checking his temperature and giving him some meds. Monday morning came all too quickly and as he still wasn't himself, I wasn't able to work.
After a trip to the doc and a prescription for antibiotics, he finally turned a corner. I was still drowning in work, still exhausted and not caught up, so the week dragged on. I'd say probably about once a month I get in the "F&#* it! I quit" phase, and last week was definitely it. The working-from-home deal has been such a challenge for me; trying to manage work, a household, a baby, myself? It's been tough. 
I've been waking up at 5 a.m. everyday just to try and get some work done before anyone wakes up-- but even then, I still find myself getting in my work hours well into 5 p.m. on the same day. By Friday of this week, Lucca was clinging to me like a leech, by 4:30 I texted Greg something along the lines of "I'm going to lose my shit up in here" and I had already mentally checked out. He came home with 2 bottles of wine and washed the dishes. He knows.
Here's the thing. I know nobody is forcing me in the situation I'm in. I have options. Work. Don't work. Go back to teaching. Put him in daycare. Not one option is really the best option. It's really just pick one and deal with it. But every once in awhile, I hit a wall. A really big freakin' wall that I'm just too tired to climb. I need to decompress in every possible way. I need to check out of mommy-wife mode for awhile. I need to call my best friend and vent. And I have to believe that this is what most people go through; that there's no way that people love every single second of motherhood. And if you do, are you human? Or is there just something I'm missing?
I've had a good weekend of decompressing. I drove our other car with no car seat all day yesterday (that was therapeutic in itself), I had a nice kid-free day to do what I wanted (and Lucca had a blast with his Daddy and Auntie.. so it was a win-win). And this morning, I feel good. I feel like I'm ready to face whatever this week brings. The stress, the struggles, the frustrations. I'm ready to climb the wall; the same wall that stopped me in my tracks last week. 
(Just check on me on Friday at 4:30 p.m. and see if I'm cursing again..)

 

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