Sometimes I like to do nice things for future me. I spend a few extra minutes shaving my legs in the shower so I won't have to do it later when I'm rushed. I clean all the junk off the kitchen table so I'll feel better the next morning when I see it. Or I get everything ready to deal with the baby in the morning...diapers, sippy cups, toys...so I can focus on getting to that first cup of coffee a little sooner when he wakes up at the crack of dawn.
I always imagine what I'll feel like...that future version of me, when I realize I don't have to wash dishes after I put the baby to bed and I'm too exhausted to stand at the sink. Its like holding the door open for someone or stopping to pick up something they dropped...just a little gesture that makes someone's day that much easier.
Only that person is me. I see it as a way treat myself kindly. It really seems to work. And future me really appreciates the little things I do.
Its funny but I used to have this internal negative voice that was always criticizing every little thing I did. Until one day someone told me that you have to break that cycle. As crazy as it sounds, you have to start telling yourself all the positive things you can think of. At first, you don't believe yourself. Its like going through the motions half-heartedly. Replacing all the variations of "You don't measure up" with "You rock!!" seems so cheese-ball. But then you start laughing at it. And then the really crazy thing begins to happen...you start believing yourself.
Its not easy. The negative voice tries to creep back in every chance it gets. The positive is definitely not permanent, but it comes back quicker each time you use it.
Doing nice things for your future self falls along that same path. First of all, you have to treat yourself the way you would want others to treat you. That way you won't be so grumpy when they don't exactly follow-through. Second of all, you will be much happier. Trust me...its much better to stop and think, "I'm glad I did that back when I had more energy because I just couldn't face it now" than, "what is wrong with me, why can't I just get my shit together?"
The best part is, hopefully future self will pay it forward. Just imagine.
Side note: my nerdy, sci-fi loving, time travel obsessed mind is having a field day with all the mentions of past and future me's.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Friday, March 15, 2013
So I'm Not A Runner
I'm not a runner. Some people are. They can put on shoes and happily log five miles without thinking. Like breathing air I imagine. I'll repeat...I'm not a runner. To me its dying. Lungs bursting. Legs screaming, "What are you doing?". Brain telling me to slow down, to walk...just walk. It'll be fine. It's not cheating.
Don't get me wrong, there have been times in my life that I've become accustomed to running. I've worked up to getting out several times a week. Shaved time off my personal bests. Enjoyed the feel of the cool air, the endorphin rush, keeping beat to my favorite songs. Those are the times its not too bad. That's probably the best it will get for me.
There are two things that got me out running again. The first is trying to lose weight. A look back into my history tells me that the only real times I've had luck with weight loss was when I had a steady run regimen going. So here I am, trying to get back into the swing of things.
Hello old running shoes...its been a while. Sad to say over six months probably. And then a year before that. Injuries, pregnancy, no time with the baby...there are a few excuses but here I am again, starting from scratch because it truly has been a while. Walking just doesn't cut it anymore.
So here is my second reason for getting moving, this one a bit more personal. So much so that I don't believe I've ever told anyone. Because then it will be real. Then it will be out there. So here goes...
I want to run a marathon before I die.
Its a crazy goal for a non-runner. But there it is. Right up there with some of the other huge life-changing things I've attempted. I have a feeling it will come with a whale-sized dose of accomplishment. I've said many times that when I'm 80 I want to look back on my life and be happy with what I have done. I definitely don't want to look back and think, "I wish I hadn't played it so safe. I wish I had at least tried."
I hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back when I was 23. Going down was alright...just a bit of a challenge. Beautiful sights, the rock layers changing the deeper you go, the temperature change with the elevation, the endless switchbacks, the steps built in for the steeper sections. All of that down takes a bite out of your legs and feet. I camped overnight at the bottom. One of the most beautiful nights I've ever spent camping. But coming back up, oh man. All incline. Miles of incline, broken up by an endless stairmaster. I never thought I'd make it. I'd heard stories of people that actually died in the canyon. I could understand it, the toll on your body. Not having enough water. Not being prepared. Getting lost in some of the more desolate areas. I thought at the very least I would need to be rescued. How mortifying. But I finally made it. Came out at the top, barely able to walk, legs shaking. I literally kissed the ground. And then I cried. My body was just so tired. I didn't think it was possible to be that tired. And I remember vividly that I couldn't walk straight for three days...a healthy dose of the Kaibab Shuffle due to the Canyon's toll on my legs.
The thing is though...I did it. I made it, and it is one of the most gratifying memories I have, simply because it was one of the hardest things I have ever accomplished. That's what makes me think I can actually manage a marathon.
So here I am with a marathon goal. It seems impossible. Or at the very least improbable. I am, after all, not a runner. But as with anything hard, if you manage to break it down into small stages of goals, it can be done.
So my first goal is a 5k. Not too daunting. 3.1 miles. Definitely doable. Sad to say most of my history of running consisted of 1.5 mile runs...just enough to get me a decent time for my old job requirement. I did manage to put in a few decent 5k's with my now-hubby back in our dating days. But lord knows that was back when I was in shape and could handle it.
A couple of good friends suggested that if I were to sign up for a 5k race, I could even walk it if I needed to. I have no idea why this never occurred to me before. It was brilliant...took all the pressure off.
So here's what brings me to writing today. I actually went out and did it, a 5k. Just to see if I could. Started out running, made it 1.5 miles, then walked a half, ran a half, and walk/ran the last bit. And I surprised myself by pulling it off fairly easily without having really run in the past six months. Yes, I've gotten a fair amount of walking in, but that's about it.
I felt sore the next day, but so good about what I'd done that I got out and did it again today. Twice in one week. This time I ran 2 miles and walked/ran the last mile and change, but mostly running. My times are pretty sad. But I at least feel like I got something done towards a goal. And I suprised myself in the process. Next thing to do is sign up for a race! Wish me luck!
Don't get me wrong, there have been times in my life that I've become accustomed to running. I've worked up to getting out several times a week. Shaved time off my personal bests. Enjoyed the feel of the cool air, the endorphin rush, keeping beat to my favorite songs. Those are the times its not too bad. That's probably the best it will get for me.
There are two things that got me out running again. The first is trying to lose weight. A look back into my history tells me that the only real times I've had luck with weight loss was when I had a steady run regimen going. So here I am, trying to get back into the swing of things.
Hello old running shoes...its been a while. Sad to say over six months probably. And then a year before that. Injuries, pregnancy, no time with the baby...there are a few excuses but here I am again, starting from scratch because it truly has been a while. Walking just doesn't cut it anymore.
So here is my second reason for getting moving, this one a bit more personal. So much so that I don't believe I've ever told anyone. Because then it will be real. Then it will be out there. So here goes...
I want to run a marathon before I die.
Its a crazy goal for a non-runner. But there it is. Right up there with some of the other huge life-changing things I've attempted. I have a feeling it will come with a whale-sized dose of accomplishment. I've said many times that when I'm 80 I want to look back on my life and be happy with what I have done. I definitely don't want to look back and think, "I wish I hadn't played it so safe. I wish I had at least tried."
I hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back when I was 23. Going down was alright...just a bit of a challenge. Beautiful sights, the rock layers changing the deeper you go, the temperature change with the elevation, the endless switchbacks, the steps built in for the steeper sections. All of that down takes a bite out of your legs and feet. I camped overnight at the bottom. One of the most beautiful nights I've ever spent camping. But coming back up, oh man. All incline. Miles of incline, broken up by an endless stairmaster. I never thought I'd make it. I'd heard stories of people that actually died in the canyon. I could understand it, the toll on your body. Not having enough water. Not being prepared. Getting lost in some of the more desolate areas. I thought at the very least I would need to be rescued. How mortifying. But I finally made it. Came out at the top, barely able to walk, legs shaking. I literally kissed the ground. And then I cried. My body was just so tired. I didn't think it was possible to be that tired. And I remember vividly that I couldn't walk straight for three days...a healthy dose of the Kaibab Shuffle due to the Canyon's toll on my legs.
The thing is though...I did it. I made it, and it is one of the most gratifying memories I have, simply because it was one of the hardest things I have ever accomplished. That's what makes me think I can actually manage a marathon.
So here I am with a marathon goal. It seems impossible. Or at the very least improbable. I am, after all, not a runner. But as with anything hard, if you manage to break it down into small stages of goals, it can be done.
So my first goal is a 5k. Not too daunting. 3.1 miles. Definitely doable. Sad to say most of my history of running consisted of 1.5 mile runs...just enough to get me a decent time for my old job requirement. I did manage to put in a few decent 5k's with my now-hubby back in our dating days. But lord knows that was back when I was in shape and could handle it.
A couple of good friends suggested that if I were to sign up for a 5k race, I could even walk it if I needed to. I have no idea why this never occurred to me before. It was brilliant...took all the pressure off.
So here's what brings me to writing today. I actually went out and did it, a 5k. Just to see if I could. Started out running, made it 1.5 miles, then walked a half, ran a half, and walk/ran the last bit. And I surprised myself by pulling it off fairly easily without having really run in the past six months. Yes, I've gotten a fair amount of walking in, but that's about it.
I felt sore the next day, but so good about what I'd done that I got out and did it again today. Twice in one week. This time I ran 2 miles and walked/ran the last mile and change, but mostly running. My times are pretty sad. But I at least feel like I got something done towards a goal. And I suprised myself in the process. Next thing to do is sign up for a race! Wish me luck!
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Things I Never Want to Forget
Memory fades. As much as I try to hold onto all the little things J does that I love, they seem to slip through the fingers of my memory like sand. I'll try to capture a few:
The way he eats. He really seems to be concentrating. Taking each piece of food carefully between his fingers, feeling it, squishing it, then aiming at his mouth. When he gets a piece in (not a given) his cheeks puff up like chipmunks and I love watching him chew. He makes little sighing sounds like its a big job, this learning how to eat thing. I love when he gets excited about a favorite food, like clementines. Sometimes I'll peel one and sit on the couch near him. He comes running at you with his mouth open, like he can't get there fast enough. Then when he gets a piece he chews it with his chipmunk cheeks and swings his leg like he's just the most content little guy.
When he cuddles. Sometimes after a nap, or when he's not feeling well or teething, J will want to be held. He's in his independent phase right now so I really cherish these moments. He'll try to crawl into my lap, put one hand up by my neck to play with my hair, and just kind of hug me. I love this. This simple action soothes my soul as well.
Right now the dogs are the funniest things in the world. They don't even have to be doing anything, just sitting and blinking. Once one catches J's eye he looks at me with a twinkle and then lets out a big belly laugh. I feel bad for them...these days the laugh is usually followed by a good chase until one of the dogs can escape upstairs, out of his grasp. He loves when one gets brave enough to come near his face. Then he puts his hands up to his mouth and just laughs and laughs like they're having a real good joke together.
The way he needs me. Although its inconvenient at times I'm trying to get stuff done, I love that he wants to be with me. That he looks at me when he's enjoying something, whether its a toy or a show or the aforementioned dogs...he'll look right at me to make sure I'm watching as well. Like he wants to share it with me. There is a second, more selfish part to this. When something bad happens in his world (a bumped head, a good tumble), he comes to me for comfort. Sometimes even when Daddy picks him up for comfort he'll want to come to me. Like only Mommy will do. Please don't ever tell my husband that I said this. I shouldn't take joy in it, but secretly I do.
That he lets me dance with him. This, too, will not last forever. Someday it will be way too embarrassing. But for now I love sweeping him up and having a nice swing around the room while he looks at me like I must be nuts, but laughs and smiles all the same.
Most of all I just love witnessing all the little changes every day brings in my little guy. Watching his little personality develop. Watching him learn. Seeing all the ways he's just like us or completely different. I'll never get enough of this little, little man. I hope by writing some of it down I can manage to keep just a little fresh in my mind.
The way he eats. He really seems to be concentrating. Taking each piece of food carefully between his fingers, feeling it, squishing it, then aiming at his mouth. When he gets a piece in (not a given) his cheeks puff up like chipmunks and I love watching him chew. He makes little sighing sounds like its a big job, this learning how to eat thing. I love when he gets excited about a favorite food, like clementines. Sometimes I'll peel one and sit on the couch near him. He comes running at you with his mouth open, like he can't get there fast enough. Then when he gets a piece he chews it with his chipmunk cheeks and swings his leg like he's just the most content little guy.
When he cuddles. Sometimes after a nap, or when he's not feeling well or teething, J will want to be held. He's in his independent phase right now so I really cherish these moments. He'll try to crawl into my lap, put one hand up by my neck to play with my hair, and just kind of hug me. I love this. This simple action soothes my soul as well.
Right now the dogs are the funniest things in the world. They don't even have to be doing anything, just sitting and blinking. Once one catches J's eye he looks at me with a twinkle and then lets out a big belly laugh. I feel bad for them...these days the laugh is usually followed by a good chase until one of the dogs can escape upstairs, out of his grasp. He loves when one gets brave enough to come near his face. Then he puts his hands up to his mouth and just laughs and laughs like they're having a real good joke together.
The way he needs me. Although its inconvenient at times I'm trying to get stuff done, I love that he wants to be with me. That he looks at me when he's enjoying something, whether its a toy or a show or the aforementioned dogs...he'll look right at me to make sure I'm watching as well. Like he wants to share it with me. There is a second, more selfish part to this. When something bad happens in his world (a bumped head, a good tumble), he comes to me for comfort. Sometimes even when Daddy picks him up for comfort he'll want to come to me. Like only Mommy will do. Please don't ever tell my husband that I said this. I shouldn't take joy in it, but secretly I do.
That he lets me dance with him. This, too, will not last forever. Someday it will be way too embarrassing. But for now I love sweeping him up and having a nice swing around the room while he looks at me like I must be nuts, but laughs and smiles all the same.
Most of all I just love witnessing all the little changes every day brings in my little guy. Watching his little personality develop. Watching him learn. Seeing all the ways he's just like us or completely different. I'll never get enough of this little, little man. I hope by writing some of it down I can manage to keep just a little fresh in my mind.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Clarity
I should clarify that the Accidental part applies to staying at home, not to motherhood. The road to motherhood was a long one for me. I am, *gulp* 37 years old. Life just didn't quite work out the way I thought it would before I got around to having kids. And the adventure isn't over. We'd like at least one more which puts me a lot closer to 40.
I never really realized it until my first Ob/gyn appointment after getting pregnant. I was informed that, since I was 35 at the time, I would be put in the ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE category. Whoa, it sounded so scary. And it felt like that...all in caps. They make you take more tests, more bloodwork, more sonograms. I had a very straighforward pregnancy, but the whole time I had this panicky feeling like I was a ticking time bomb due to my age. All the worries the drs and the midwives had turned out to be absolutely false. I had a healthy (albeit gigantic) baby naturally and without any issues. I can only hope I don't worry as much the next time around (knock on wood).
I do wonder occasionally what it would have been like to be ...let's say 25, and a new mom. Would I have more energy? Maybe. Definitely less patience. Less ability to take a step back and laugh at a situation or just roll with it when something is clearly out of my control. I would have less money, and I probably wouldn't be able to stay home. I would have taken fewer risks overall with jobs, so I might not have felt as satisfied with that part of my life.
Mentally, I don't think I would have been prepared. You never really know what to expect from becoming a parent until you are in the thick of it. But a decade ago I was a sensitive mess, so to speak. I couldn't watch a scary movie without having nightmares. Blood made me quesy. Not to mention the great amounts of vomit, poop, drool, and half-chewed-up food you deal with on a daily basis as a parent.
I would be in a completely different relationship. One that couldn't weather all the ups-and-downs of new parenthood. Something I need to remember after a nice 'discussion' with my husband while trying to put up the world's most disfunctional baby gate. We get to the other side of things. Its not always easy, but we do.
Along with the money comes living where we do. I doubt I would have been able to afford a nice neighborhood in the suburbs. As much as I felt trapped by suburbia growing up in New Jersey, I see the value of it now that I have a kid. Its safe (as safe as you can get in this day and age of scary Dateline episodes and news blurbs). There are lots of kids around to play with and grow up with. There's a really good school close by. The playgrounds are clean, there's plenty of room to walk and run and play.
I guess once I finally look at it all this way, I realize I'm happy I'm doing it now. Not like I had a choice, mind you...but I can at least look at it in a positive way.
I never really realized it until my first Ob/gyn appointment after getting pregnant. I was informed that, since I was 35 at the time, I would be put in the ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE category. Whoa, it sounded so scary. And it felt like that...all in caps. They make you take more tests, more bloodwork, more sonograms. I had a very straighforward pregnancy, but the whole time I had this panicky feeling like I was a ticking time bomb due to my age. All the worries the drs and the midwives had turned out to be absolutely false. I had a healthy (albeit gigantic) baby naturally and without any issues. I can only hope I don't worry as much the next time around (knock on wood).
I do wonder occasionally what it would have been like to be ...let's say 25, and a new mom. Would I have more energy? Maybe. Definitely less patience. Less ability to take a step back and laugh at a situation or just roll with it when something is clearly out of my control. I would have less money, and I probably wouldn't be able to stay home. I would have taken fewer risks overall with jobs, so I might not have felt as satisfied with that part of my life.
Mentally, I don't think I would have been prepared. You never really know what to expect from becoming a parent until you are in the thick of it. But a decade ago I was a sensitive mess, so to speak. I couldn't watch a scary movie without having nightmares. Blood made me quesy. Not to mention the great amounts of vomit, poop, drool, and half-chewed-up food you deal with on a daily basis as a parent.
I would be in a completely different relationship. One that couldn't weather all the ups-and-downs of new parenthood. Something I need to remember after a nice 'discussion' with my husband while trying to put up the world's most disfunctional baby gate. We get to the other side of things. Its not always easy, but we do.
Along with the money comes living where we do. I doubt I would have been able to afford a nice neighborhood in the suburbs. As much as I felt trapped by suburbia growing up in New Jersey, I see the value of it now that I have a kid. Its safe (as safe as you can get in this day and age of scary Dateline episodes and news blurbs). There are lots of kids around to play with and grow up with. There's a really good school close by. The playgrounds are clean, there's plenty of room to walk and run and play.
I guess once I finally look at it all this way, I realize I'm happy I'm doing it now. Not like I had a choice, mind you...but I can at least look at it in a positive way.
I Need a Break
I live a blessed life...believe me, I know. I'm married to one of the greatest men I've ever met. We have a beautiful and healthy little boy, J, who just celebrated his first birthday. We just moved into our dream house a few months ago. And on top of it all, we can afford for me to stay home full time with J.
Not everyone has this luxury. I certainly never thought I would. When J was a few months old and my maternity leave was coming to an end, we sat down one night and looked over our finances and realized it was possible. (Well, there's a whole lot to that night but that's for a different post :)
So here I am, nine months later, plodding along through the daily ups and downs of motherhood. Trouble is, I never planned this. I was a career girl all the way, with all its aspirations and motivations. I mean, I never liked working, don't get me wrong. Who likes working? But we have to do it...so I did. I explored all sorts of career paths, and all the extra school or training that each involved. Again, later post. And then one day I just...quit.
That was it. No more getting up at 4:30 in the morning to get ready for work and brave the commute. No more daily grind. No more coworkers complaining about every little thing. No more exhaustion just trying to get to the end of a day, or a week, or until vacation. Just no more.
At first it was exhilarating. I felt like I was playing hooky. The first couple days were actually a thrill. I felt like I had gotten one over. On who, I don't know. Like I just bowed out of the rat race and said, "I don't have to do this anymore".
It was nice for a little while. I didn't have to get dressed if I didn't want to. I got to play with J all day. I could go to Target any day of the week.
But then it hit me. No more work. No more coworkers complaining. Okay...that part is good, but no more coworkers also means no more daily interaction with adult humans. Wow. That was a culture shock. Who knew how important social interaction was. Without it, you kind of go a little nutty. Like desperate calls to the hubby nutty. Pumping him for information on what is going on at work, out in the world. Dinner out with friends turns into an exhilarating experience just trying to catch up on the littlest things. I definitely miss that about work.
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So did I mention schedules? I used to work twelve hour shifts. It took a little getting used to but it also made for some nice long weekends. Now, you ask? Now my shift is 7am to 7pm-ish. Still twelve hours. But now its every day. Not so bad now that I'm almost done breastfeeding and hubby can take J for a little while on his days off. But up until then...whew. When did I sign up for this? Twelve hour shifts every day with NO days off. None. Oh and no vacation time. And did I mention that in your off-time (7pm to 7am) you are ON CALL. Yes, on call. Be ready. At a moment's notice the infant alarm may sound and you have to go back to work. And by the way...you don't know for how long. Teething? Try a couple hours. Crazy nightmare? At least an hour. One of the lovely things referred to as a 'growth spurt'? Forget about it...just pack a lunch.
Okay, okay. So onto the actual topic of Needing a Break. Every so often I feel myself start to lose it. It usually builds up over a couple of days, especially when I haven't gotten a lot of sleep or when J is just particularly clingy/needy. I start feeling like a zombie. I start developing tunnel vision. Suddenly my beautiful, curious, wonderful child starts feeling like an anchor. Like that story of the albatross. I'll have to look that one up to see if it applies.
That's when I know I need a break. Something, anything. An afternoon out with the girls. Lunch with an old friend. Just Something.
It happened this week. The building. Unfortunately I usually wait until its reached a dangerous combustible level to tell my husband. See, it usually coincides with the end of his work week. When I've been alone with J too much. And, unfortunately, usually when hubby is burnt out on work himself.
This time I had no plans with anyone in the near future. So, being sensible, I realized I had to take matters into my own hands.
Me to hubby: "Babe, I'm losing it. Could we work it so I could go see a movie or something this week"
Love my husband. Love him. I needed him to have my back. To see the desperation in my eyes and to say, "sure Baby, whatever you need. I'll take J all afternoon on Thursday." But no. Hubby didn't respond that way. He kind of gave me a blank stare and mumbled, "I guess so."
And then it began. The complete breakdown of communication. For the entire day we were snippy with each other. It wasn't anything in particular. It was everything. He began telling me all the things I needed to do to manage my time better. And then the big one hit. The sleeping issue.
See, I'm vehemently against cry-it-out (or sleep-training or whatever we want to label it these days). I just don't believe in leaving my child to cry uncontrollably until he exhausts himself and passes out. Its a hot-button issue for us. You think you'll be on the same page parenting before you get into it, but you are never completely on the same page. The thing is, we are for most things. Except this.
The pediatrician gives you a piece of paper and says this sleep-training is what they recommend. Oh, it'll just be a few nights (of what...pure hell? While I listen to my child scream and ignore him?) Now I admit I can partially blame my upbringing. But hubby just hears the dr say it and jumps on board.
Okay, now I need to step down off of my soapbox for a minute. Anyway, here I am rehashing the sleep argument we've already had a million ways and all I'm thinking is, "Fuck me, I just asked this man for a break because I'm mentally, physically, and emotionally overwhelmed and he decides to just add fuel to the fire?"
So we somehow manage to get through the sleep argument. And lunch at his brother's while still trying to appear like a happy married couple. And the rest of the evening...more bickering, more fighting. And finally, we're in bed for the night and I'm just trying to shut down the day and relax.
That's when dear hubby decides to tell me...after a whole day fighting...wait for it...that when I told him I needed a break, he took it as criticism that he wasn't doing enough and went on the defensive.
Yup, a whole long miserable day because he took I NEED A BREAK wrong. What the fuck people, what the fuck. Sometimes living with other humans is a never ending lesson in patience. Needless to say, I never got my break. Never went to the movies. Just a couple hours of down time.
That's probably what led me to start this blog today. I need to just get back some me time and let it all out. To the impartial internet limbo world that doesn't know me or judge that I'm complaining about my perfect life. Thank you, internet limbo...just thank you. For listening.
I feel a hell of a lot better.
Not everyone has this luxury. I certainly never thought I would. When J was a few months old and my maternity leave was coming to an end, we sat down one night and looked over our finances and realized it was possible. (Well, there's a whole lot to that night but that's for a different post :)
So here I am, nine months later, plodding along through the daily ups and downs of motherhood. Trouble is, I never planned this. I was a career girl all the way, with all its aspirations and motivations. I mean, I never liked working, don't get me wrong. Who likes working? But we have to do it...so I did. I explored all sorts of career paths, and all the extra school or training that each involved. Again, later post. And then one day I just...quit.
That was it. No more getting up at 4:30 in the morning to get ready for work and brave the commute. No more daily grind. No more coworkers complaining about every little thing. No more exhaustion just trying to get to the end of a day, or a week, or until vacation. Just no more.
At first it was exhilarating. I felt like I was playing hooky. The first couple days were actually a thrill. I felt like I had gotten one over. On who, I don't know. Like I just bowed out of the rat race and said, "I don't have to do this anymore".
It was nice for a little while. I didn't have to get dressed if I didn't want to. I got to play with J all day. I could go to Target any day of the week.
But then it hit me. No more work. No more coworkers complaining. Okay...that part is good, but no more coworkers also means no more daily interaction with adult humans. Wow. That was a culture shock. Who knew how important social interaction was. Without it, you kind of go a little nutty. Like desperate calls to the hubby nutty. Pumping him for information on what is going on at work, out in the world. Dinner out with friends turns into an exhilarating experience just trying to catch up on the littlest things. I definitely miss that about work.
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So did I mention schedules? I used to work twelve hour shifts. It took a little getting used to but it also made for some nice long weekends. Now, you ask? Now my shift is 7am to 7pm-ish. Still twelve hours. But now its every day. Not so bad now that I'm almost done breastfeeding and hubby can take J for a little while on his days off. But up until then...whew. When did I sign up for this? Twelve hour shifts every day with NO days off. None. Oh and no vacation time. And did I mention that in your off-time (7pm to 7am) you are ON CALL. Yes, on call. Be ready. At a moment's notice the infant alarm may sound and you have to go back to work. And by the way...you don't know for how long. Teething? Try a couple hours. Crazy nightmare? At least an hour. One of the lovely things referred to as a 'growth spurt'? Forget about it...just pack a lunch.
Okay, okay. So onto the actual topic of Needing a Break. Every so often I feel myself start to lose it. It usually builds up over a couple of days, especially when I haven't gotten a lot of sleep or when J is just particularly clingy/needy. I start feeling like a zombie. I start developing tunnel vision. Suddenly my beautiful, curious, wonderful child starts feeling like an anchor. Like that story of the albatross. I'll have to look that one up to see if it applies.
That's when I know I need a break. Something, anything. An afternoon out with the girls. Lunch with an old friend. Just Something.
It happened this week. The building. Unfortunately I usually wait until its reached a dangerous combustible level to tell my husband. See, it usually coincides with the end of his work week. When I've been alone with J too much. And, unfortunately, usually when hubby is burnt out on work himself.
This time I had no plans with anyone in the near future. So, being sensible, I realized I had to take matters into my own hands.
Me to hubby: "Babe, I'm losing it. Could we work it so I could go see a movie or something this week"
Love my husband. Love him. I needed him to have my back. To see the desperation in my eyes and to say, "sure Baby, whatever you need. I'll take J all afternoon on Thursday." But no. Hubby didn't respond that way. He kind of gave me a blank stare and mumbled, "I guess so."
And then it began. The complete breakdown of communication. For the entire day we were snippy with each other. It wasn't anything in particular. It was everything. He began telling me all the things I needed to do to manage my time better. And then the big one hit. The sleeping issue.
See, I'm vehemently against cry-it-out (or sleep-training or whatever we want to label it these days). I just don't believe in leaving my child to cry uncontrollably until he exhausts himself and passes out. Its a hot-button issue for us. You think you'll be on the same page parenting before you get into it, but you are never completely on the same page. The thing is, we are for most things. Except this.
The pediatrician gives you a piece of paper and says this sleep-training is what they recommend. Oh, it'll just be a few nights (of what...pure hell? While I listen to my child scream and ignore him?) Now I admit I can partially blame my upbringing. But hubby just hears the dr say it and jumps on board.
Okay, now I need to step down off of my soapbox for a minute. Anyway, here I am rehashing the sleep argument we've already had a million ways and all I'm thinking is, "Fuck me, I just asked this man for a break because I'm mentally, physically, and emotionally overwhelmed and he decides to just add fuel to the fire?"
So we somehow manage to get through the sleep argument. And lunch at his brother's while still trying to appear like a happy married couple. And the rest of the evening...more bickering, more fighting. And finally, we're in bed for the night and I'm just trying to shut down the day and relax.
That's when dear hubby decides to tell me...after a whole day fighting...wait for it...that when I told him I needed a break, he took it as criticism that he wasn't doing enough and went on the defensive.
Yup, a whole long miserable day because he took I NEED A BREAK wrong. What the fuck people, what the fuck. Sometimes living with other humans is a never ending lesson in patience. Needless to say, I never got my break. Never went to the movies. Just a couple hours of down time.
That's probably what led me to start this blog today. I need to just get back some me time and let it all out. To the impartial internet limbo world that doesn't know me or judge that I'm complaining about my perfect life. Thank you, internet limbo...just thank you. For listening.
I feel a hell of a lot better.
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