100 Percent

Saturday, September 5, 2015


It's been awhile since I've posted, and really the only excuses I have are that we've had so much going on and the only time I've had to write is when I'm sleeping. And I'm sorry, but I will always choose sleep.
And just like that, Summer is over. It's already September, there are already leaves on the ground (of which I've been raking up since July) and this morning we head out on our last summertime adventure. It's 5:00 a.m. on a Saturday, and although Lucca has slept until sunrise this week, he's all too excited about a family day-trip to the beach. So here I am. Not sleeping. And blogging while it's still dark outside.
This is also the time where I begin the countdown to my babe's birthday, and the days ahead that I will most likely cry for no freaking reason. I cried a lot last year. I held him a lot in those last few days of September, stared at him, soaking in all of his baby-ness that I'd never see again. I was pathetic. And guess what? It's back again.

I almost feel like I'm having a tougher time with him turning two. He's a little person now. He wants to learn about the world around him, and he wants my time more than anything. I've had ridiculous amounts of mom guilt this Summer, when he'd come grab my hand every 5 minutes and say, "Come on Mommy, come on..." when he just wanted to dance or to race his cars together. He asks to go places: the pool, the beach, his friends' houses, the park... and his all-out rage when my response is "later" or "not right now" is totally warranted. To be honest, I want to jump up and down and scream at the top of my lungs too.



I've felt so shitty about it that I've been looking all over for a daycare situation for him a few days a week. Yes, I work from home and I'm looking for daycare. But not for me, for him. A lot of my guilt stems from the fact that he's stuck in the house, with me while I click-clack away for hours, and all he's got is the TV and his toys. We take breaks and leave the house throughout the day, but I feel like he needs more than what I can give him: the back and forth from my desk, the "mini lessons" on letters and shapes and colors, the thrown together art projects. I don't need him to be away from me all day long, but a few hours a day a couple days a week would be ideal. Reading these words back makes me feel shitty for even wanting him to go to daycare because I'm home, and the cycle continues.


This is why mothers go bat-shit crazy. They got bat-shit crazy just over worry and guilt alone.

We'll figure something out. It's funny that even after 16 months of doing this work-at-home deal, I just can't find the right balance. I can't ever give 100% of myself to anything, and that's been so difficult for me. I know I'm always looking for the perfect situation, and I know there isn't one, but it always feels good to bitch and complain for a bit. Then, I'll move on.

For now, I'll return to the couch with my love to watch Buzz Lightyear until the sun comes up. I'll look forward to a day ahead filled with sandcastles and wave-chasing with my little family. I won't care about the week ahead or the frustrations I'll encounter.

Today I'll give 100%.

  

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