When You Have ALL THE THINGS To Do... Do The Stupid Thing

I've wanted to write so badly.

If you can call this malarkey I type "writing".

Pretty sure I have no fucking clue when it comes to grammar and syntax and proper use of the comma. I love me a comma. I will use that little bastard whenever I feel like it.

Anyway.

YOU GUYS. YOOOOOU GUUUUYS. The few of you that still read, and those of you who come upon this blog by accident by searching a vague porn term and are immediately and wholeheartedly disappointed: Life is chaos.

My little guy is so cute. I mean really really adorable. (Comma there? See, I refrained because I figured you were judging me for my comma use, and now I don't even know. And I just used one there.) He's so sweet when he is not crying or screaming. BUT.HE.HAS.BEEN.CRYING.AND/OR.SCREAMING/MOST/OF/THE/DAYS/ALL/DAY.

It is totally exhausting.

He generally will only catnap around 33-47 minutes. YES. I track it. And he will generally only do that if he is contact napping, meaning being held or lying beside one of us. He's so sweet and these days won't last forever, but man. I get NOTHING done.

This is the best you get because he's going to hate me when he's older. Because I consist of, and spew forth, embarrassment. Oh, and privacy and stuff. 

So, little dude has napped a little, and sometimes had a 3-4 hour stretch of sleep once I finally get him down at night.

AND THEN I SURVEY MY MAIN F*CKING FLOOR. And I withhold the immense urge to weep and light the place on fire. So much mess. So much clutter. So many random kid things strewn about the floor. And that is with me TRYING to put shit back immediately, and keep a hamper on the main floor for his dirty clothes and cloths, and gather up Baby D's stuff as soon as I see it somewhere it shouldn't be.

So I have some time to FINALLY accomplish something. ANYTHING. SOMETHING REALLY GODDAMN FAST BEFORE HE WAKES!! And do you know what my brain does? My lucky brain that can finally wash dishes, or clothes, or vacuum, or wash the floor, or put all the toys away, or tidy the art supplies and paper, or gather the items and (corresponding receipts) bought without being able to try them on at the store because he was screaming, or clean the toilets, or wipe down the sinks that have an IMPRESSIVE amount of toothpaste spray and spittle from Baby D?

My brain gives a hearty, intense DEEEERRRRRRRP.

I fucking BLANK OUT. I start something and see something shiny and fucking throw my chance away. I don't go to bed. I rarely watch TV (I miss the odd mental checkout of Chicago PD or Jim Jefferies). I just fucking blank out and scroll my phone and start three things and finish nothing. Then realize I haven't gone pee in 7 hours, so I do that for the first time by myself all day. Then grab junk food because that is all I feel like and have the time and energy to "prepare".

And I PISS THE MOTHERF*CKING OPPORTUNITY AWAY. And the GUILT. Oh man, the guilt. But I cannot emphasize enough how utterly draining it is to have a baby that doesn't want to sleep and cries so often in the day. I love him so much and it breaks me that I can't make him happier in the day. Holding him in my arms is the best solution, but it has a time limit. He is heavy. I have another kiddo. I have to eat and poop and SOMEHOW shove coffee into this gullet.

Those who don't have "high needs" babies have NO FUCKING CLUE how good they have it. Everyone has issues, and motherhood/parenthood is hard and requires sacrifice no matter HOW you slice it, but goddammit having a baby that won't let you be more than 1' away, that cries all the time... that is a serious brain drain. Emotional drain. And my anxiety just soars.

So anyway, here I sit. He actually stayed asleep after the initial put down in the crib for the first time in... seriously I'm trying to calculate but my brain is slow and mashed potato-like. I think in ever. He always wakes multiple times after the initial put down, until 11 or 12. Then it's every 45 minutes to 2 hours. And I poured the last of my red wine and sat to blog. Because I really wanted to. Assuming I'd get 20 minutes and start more again in three weeks. (I know, you're thinking - it took her more than 20 minutes to put this garbage together?!?!) And I have nearly a full post, and an empty glass, and no more red wine (WHAT THE FUCK, THAT'S NOT FAIR).

In truth, I've been so wiped out, this past week is the first week I've had wine in over two months.

Anywho.

I had the chance. The laundry hampers creaked. The table barely had enough room for me to push my laptop on top of shit to type. The floors are covered in baby food splatter. And I typed.

The mess is overwhelming. The sense of failure and disappointment is heavy.

My brain? She sends out a solid DEEEEERRRRRRRRRP.

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Insomnia Breeds Insomnia

In the days of my youth, had there been a napping Olympics, I'd have owned that shit hands down. I mean, epic levels of Michael Phelps gold-age. A 20 minute nap was a joke; you'd best give me a minimum of three hours or I could possibly throat punch you.

Ah, the good ole days.

The days of yore.

The days I could sleep.

Now, you all know I am a new mom. But this seems to be entirely independent of that.

Kiddo is sleeping and here I sit. Awake. Staring at the ceiling.

Okay, that's a lie. I'm almost always on my side or my tummy, so it's usually staring at the wall or the goddamn mocking/glaring numbers on the alarm clock.

Deep breathing just makes me dizzy.
I can't keep my mind focused enough to count down from 500.
If I count sheep, I inevitably start thinking about farms and factory farming and vegetarianism and blah blah blah.

Progressive muscle relaxation almost always leaves me with a kink in my neck, or the need to get up and stretch.

I really, REALLY suck at putting myself to bed.

.... and "if the baby doesn't need to eat for another ____ hours"

I do a list of things I need to get done the next day, then toss in the stress of knowing that I won't remember what those tasks are, and that even if I *do* remember, I probably won't have the time/energy/fortitude to get.that.shit.done.

And on the nights when I have the luxury of a dinner out, you bet your ass I am taking in a fountain Coke or Pepsi, and making good use of a free refill policy. You know, because I heard that copious amounts of caffeinated sugar do a body good.

Amirite?

So. Here I sit at 2am. My uterus hurts. My body is tired. My mind won't shut the f_ck up.

I suppose I will take comfort in the fact that I've managed to purchase a Halloween costume, lumbar pillow, Christmas present, milk cooler bag and cell phone cover online today. That is some type of lame ass accomplishment, right? (Hubby - if you are reading this, no, I have no idea what those charges are from ebay and that deal site. Nope. No idea. Carry on as you were).

How do you fall asleep when your mind is as active as Miley Cyrus' butt?

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