There have been some difficult days the past few months, difficult weeks - moments when I’d love to dramatically take to my bed and check out of life for a few hours.  Or have myself a good, sobbing woe-is-me type of cry.

Everytime that happens though, Alex won’t let me.

Today is my last day on leave, so it’s only natural that I get in line for the emotional roller coaster. 

Tears pricked my eyelids when we all went to get our morning coffee and realized that Gus, the drive-through guy with a thick accent who calls me sweetheart and tells me my total is “two porty poor”, was not there. 

It’s a federal holiday so I won’t get to say goodbye to the mailman.

No more park in the early morning, no more Imagination Movers while EK has her morning bottle.  No more gym classes and crafty projects.  No more Law and Order during naptime.

Finally, FINALLY I understand Alex when he talks.  What’s going to happen to all this?  How am I going to function when I have to stick to someone else’s schedule?

As I drove to the park in a haze of tears, I looked in the rearview mirror in time to see Alex reaching over and pinching his baby sister’s nose and making a honking sound which meant I had to snap out of it and act like a mom, i.e. tell him to knock it off.

And then, as I sat here surfing and listening to EK’s baby snores, I heard Alex cry only 20 minutes after going down for a nap.  Usually that means he’s pooped (”in the pants” sense, not in the “tired” sense). 

I picked him up and he wrapped his little arms around my neck and buried his face in my hair and I started to get teary-eyed over not being there for naps anymore.  We snuggled for a minute and I changed him.  Then I noticed he was holding his hand out and still crying a little.

BECAUSE IT WAS COVERED IN POOP.

At least, what was left after smearing some on my neck.

AWESOME.

It’s impossible to enjoy an entire day of sappy crying and “don’t make me leave you” type woes when the subjects of your heartache are still wearing Pampers.

See?  Profound.

From fall!

From fall!

From fall!

Is the weather always this nice in September and October?  I think I’ve been locked inside grey cube walls for too long.  What kind of job lets me get paid for doing this kind of thing all day?

I have been up since 2am trying to either get the baby to sleep or go back to sleep myself.

I have a love/hate relationship with the Babywise book - love it because it worked with Alex who slept through the night at 7 weeks, and HATE HATE HATE IT now for giving me what are obviously unrealistic expectations in it’s stupid sanctimonious tone.

I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.

EK has slept through the night twice so I know she’s capable of it.

Most nights though, she is up at 3:15 or 4 or 2:17 or 5:10.  Or 2 and 4 and 6 and on those days I am ready to pass out, fall over, cry, or take up smoking.  It is the unpredictability that drives me insane.

If I try to let her cry it out it feels like layer after layer of skin being scraped away by tweezers and usually I give in after an hour anyway.  At 4:45 this morning I took a walk outside with my iPod to get the hell away from it. 

If you would be so kind, please leave a comment and tell me when your baby(ies) slept through the night and if you did anything to make it happen.  I should mention that our days are relatively calm and scheduled - she eats at pretty much the same times every day but is a much fussier baby than Alex was.

And the fact that I almost LOST IT when the photographer touched Emily Kate’s face in a futile attempt to wake her up.

And that I spent most of the time trying to keep Alex from touching his face, because I am a germ-o-phobic like that.  My fear of cooties was well founded because…

Now Alex has PINK EYE.

Pink eye. 

The virus that strikes fear in the heart of contact lens wearers because it means you’ll be stuck wearing glasses for at least a week.  If you are like me - legally blind and wearing contacts for 15 hours a day - you don’t take the time to replace your glasses very often and are likely wearing the same ones you picked out and were groovin’ in back in 1999.

All day long, my eyes have been twitching just trying to trick me into touching them.  Soon, without thinking I will unconcsiously find myself rubbing my tired eyes, which will be shortly followed by the sticky, lime-colored ooze that had Alex wandering into my bedroom this morning with one eye glued shut.

Ugh.

In the meantime, I’m sewing together mittens made out of Clorox wipes and trying to ignore the tingly sensations of viruses conga-ing across my eyeballs.

Lately, I’ve had an urge to get a family portrait taken.  Seeing as how Alex hasn’t had a professional picture taken since he was 6 months old, I’ve recently gotten fabulous highlights, and 3 have become 4, now seemed like the perfect time.

I made an appointment for 10:30am because that is the time of the day that usually presents itself as the eye of the hurricane.  At 10:30, Alex will have just finished some quiet time and a snack, Emily Kate will have just finished a nap and a bottle, I’ll have had time to brush my teeth, etc.

Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to get the four of us dressed, groomed, and out of the house in a state suitable for eternal preservation on film?

Imagine my dismay when we arrived in our finest coordinated outfits and having practiced saying “cheese” that very morning to find that the photographer was running “just a little late”.

“How late is a little?” I inquire.

“Maybe 20 minutes…”

Allrighty.  Perhaps 20 minutes is doable.  We should still be in the eye of the storm, although starting to move toward high winds.

At the half hour mark, I again asked how much longer we’d be kept waiting. 

“We have maybe 3 more shots.”

I felt the heat rise in my face, and the irritation segue into full on dismay.

FORTY-FIVE EFFING MINUTES LATER the photographer is “ready for ya!  Come on back!” 

By this time, no one really feels like saying “cheese.”  My almost-2-year-old has had enough before we even start.  The baby has passed the cooing and smiling stage and moved into this:

zzzzz…brightlightwha?i’m floating in space…zzzz…

From sears_sucks

Great picture of my highlights, but WHAT is going on with that background?

From portraits

Hello hair…

From portraits

And more hair…but on a completely unrelated note I zipped those jeans with nary a muffin top and I have a 10 WEEK OLD.

From portraits

Aside from the fact that we were kept waiting close to an hour by the time the first picture was taken, AND that the photographer displayed as much skill behind the camera as someone who’d recently been fired from 7-11, AND that Brett took a day off work to take part in this debacle we’ll call a photo shoot which resulted in maybe 5 usable pictures…

I DID appreciate the manager agreeing with me when I informed her that she’d enhance this crap for free instead of the usual $7 per mouse click fee.  And I ADMIRE her for still having the balls to ask me if I wished to join the Smile Saver Club for a mere $29.99.

Unfortunately, I will have to decline that kind invitation as this experience reminded me why it’s been a year and half since the last photo shoot, and has set Alex on course to have his next professional portrait taken on picture day when he starts first grade in 2012.

Saying “cheese” through gritted teeth and bile in my throat,

Heather

I hate to bake, I don’t know the difference between saute and fry, in short…any type of culinary creativeness just makes me feel tired.

Not only that, I am BAD at it.  I get distracted and burn stuff.  One by one I trashed an entire set of pots.  I ruin things that practically make themselves.  I set off the smoke alarm on average once a week.  I melt plastic bags to the top of the toaster oven.  I once forgot the eggs when making muffins…from a mix where all I had to add was water and eggs.

And man was I burned (bad pun get it?) when I had to waste money on a new oven.  That I’ve now had for 3 months and have used approximately 4 times.  Twice for frozen pizza.  Once by my mother-in-law who was so appalled by the poor showing we made last time they visited that this time they trucked an entire roast and all the ingredients for dinner from Pennsylvania.  Once to make frozen french fries.  Which set off the smoke alarm when I decided that broiling them on high would make them crispy like Mickey D’s.

Why then, am I obsessed with recipes?

I think it’s for the same reason that I love office supplies.  Office supplies are about potential.  It’s not about actually being organized, it’s the mere idea that if everything were filed and tabbed and highlighted then life would be so much simpler.

So too, with cooking.  I read recipes imagining thier tasty, homemade deliciousness and the mouth-watering smells.  Envisioning my dinner guests raving over my gourmet cooking that I made in my fabulous kitchen while my children played quietly by my feet.

My excuse has always been that I didn’t have the time, so busy with work was I that by the time we’d get home it was too late to make a meal.  But I would love to if I had the time! Alas…

The past few months of staying home have proven that even when I’m here all day, I rarely get around to chopping and dicing and mixing.  By the time I get the kitchen clean, usually around 2pm, the last thing I want to do is mess it up.  And Law & Order is on then.

So as much as it pains me to admit it, my name is Heather and I subscribe to recipe blogs purely for the food porn.  I will never make any of these dishes, just like you will never do it on the copy machine at work.  I like to eat, but I want someone else to make it and clean up. 

I feel a great weight lift when I tell you..I hate to cook.  Tell me it’s not just me.

After a whirlwind tour through the kid’s books, in which Alex picked up books and handed them to me then raced ahead as I tried to put it back in the correct place before he could yank out another, we skidded to a stop at the train set. 

Two little girls, maybe 4 or 5 years old, were already there playing.  I sat in the rocking chair next to the train table, and Alex took up residence on the opposite corner from the other kids there, proving that he already understands the concept of personal space. 

He hung out in his corner with a little car, making adorable hoo hoo  sounds and pushing the car back and forth on the track.  Within a minute, one of the little girls started moving her train over toward him and by the look on her face, I just knew she was going to push him.

And she did, a full body check that sent him a foot away from the table.

Like a sprung mousetrap, I was out of the rocking chair and in her face hissing, “EXCUSE ME!!  You don’t push other people!  DON’T TOUCH HIM AGAIN.”

She stared at me, surprise evident on her face, then muttered, “Sorry” and moved on. 

I sat back in the chair, heart thumping and face flaming.  Had her parent come up to confront me, I was fully prepared to throwdown right there in the B&N.

No one did.

Until roughly 10 minutes later, when a woman wandered over fully immersed in a phone call, sat in the chair next to me and continued her conversation.  She was still talking 5 minutes later when Alex got bored and we left.

I waited for the pusher to tell her mommy I yelled at her but she didn’t even seem to register it when her mom came back, ignoring her the same way the mom seemed to be ignoring the girls.

Who leaves a 4 year old alone for that long in a public place?  Or even a 10 year old?  A few months back when I asked about playground etiquette I wondered, “Where are the parents?” 

I feel sorry for the girl who pushed my kid.  Who would have thought?

That’s being a bit dramatic, since I am a consultant.  Consultants move from contract to contract a lot which is perfect for me because I can’t stand to work anywhere for more than 18 months or so.  The client I was working with decided not to renew the contract for next year which means in consulting world I am “on the bench”. 

(Note: While I won’t miss the client at all, I am royally pissed off that I have to give up a day of unpaid maternity leave to go turn in my badge and check out.  Which on second thought, screw that…I’m charging them the day I go in to outprocess.  If they didn’t want me back they should have thought of it before I went on leave.  Or they should be willing to let me mail back my badge and be done with it.)

Anwyay, now I have to find a contract.  This is made more difficult by the fact that I am a princess about my commute - I refuse to cross the tunnel or travel more than 30 miles. 

In any other circumstance, I would LOOOVE a fresh start.  But the thought of a new contract right now is stressing me out.  Normally when you come back from a maternity leave, everyone you work with is welcoming and wants to talk babies and see pictures. 

Most importantly they are willing to cut you some slack when you decide at 2pm that you can’t stand to be away from the babas for one more second and tear out of there to go pick them up early. 

Or come in late.

Or break down in tears at your desk. 

Or commandeer an office for 30 minutes twice a day to pump.

I will not have that cushion.  I now have to prove that I am dependable and sharp to an entirely new group of people.

Which is difficult when your suit doesn’t quite button and there is milk leaking out your boobs and you’ve had 45 minutes of sleep.

Now for my next problem.  I potentially have two offers.  (I know…waaaah.)

The first is work that I would probably enjoy and in my field, but is onsite and 40 minutes away with relatively structured hours.  (Structure=sucky)

The second is only an option because I know someone on the hiring team who is willing to take a chance.  I have a little experience doing the type of work, but it’s not in my field.  It isn’t even a firm offer yet and may not become one. But…but!  If it works out, once I get trained I COULD WORK FROM HOME.  (Hears angels sing…)

If I worked from home, we could keep doing our tiny tot gym classes.  (Last week I broke out in tears as I watched Alex run around because he has so much fun and soon we won’t be able to do it anymore and waaah again.)

I might be able to get to the gym more than once a week.  (Which could facilitate my suits buttoning and also lessen my desire to get back on the meds or drink wine at inappropriate times.)

Right now, I’m studiously avoiding my work email.  Sitting in my inbox like little flaming turds are emails from my boss and from my potential boss with job number 1 wondering what I’m going to do. 

Avoidance.

That’s what I’m going to do.

From 2008_09_04

Omigod the OCD would have had me in shreds watching this happen. Note the red streaks of spaghetti sauce in hair, juicing up the mohawk.

From 2008_09_04

And then there’s this…

From 2008_09_04

A sure candidate for Vicki’s Story Time posts.  Except I really don’t know what’s going on.

As soon as Emily Kate starts to stir for the 4am bottle, I know.  When the cat races through the house after just barfing, I know, even though I might pretend I don’t.  Every weekday morning, one of my neighbors leaves for work on a Harley at precisely 3:15am, and I hear it.  If a burgler is ever skulking around our house, I’ll be the one who jerks awake. 

I lay there, listening to eerie silence.  Figuring I might as well start the bottle heating, I crept out of the bedroom to encounter a silent, unmoving Alex standing in the hallway staring at me. 

In the past week, Alex has scared the living crap out of me nearly every single night.  The first time, I went upstairs to get ready for bed and found him standing at the top of the stairs behind the baby gate.  Not only did I jump because I didn’t expect him to be there, but something about the whole scenario was creepy - like that scene in 3 Men and a Baby where there is a little ghost kid in the curtains.

Two nights ago, I was getting ready for bed and I could swear I heard him breathing right behind me.  I went to check on him and found him sleeping on the floor just inside the door of his bedroom.

Alex is many things, but silent and still while awake is rarely one of them.  As such, these midnight jaunts are all the more unnerving.  One of these nights, I fully expect to see him float back to his bed.

Tonight I came out of the bathroom into our bedroom to find him standing just inside the door.  Without a word, he turned and silently went back to his room.

***************************************** 

As an aside, this “hurricane” that we were supposed to get blew through with nary even a power outage for which I am thankful.  Milk crisis averted…