So... How Does One Resign From Parenting? #Fail

Two days ago was not a happy day. Nothing dramatically awful happened, no one was hurt or anything.

I just realized that I am not cut out to be a patient mother and that I really suck at the "terrible twos" with a child. For those of you who call this stage the "terrific twos" I have only two words for you: Fuck you.

There have been many mornings where I wake up and immediately begin the internal judging/berating/belittling inner voice to myself about how I should be doing so much more for my daughter. Or that I can't believe I'm late again for something. Or that I've plopped her in front of Paw Patrol or Toopy & Binoo or the Price is Right (if I am feeling especially selfish that morning and don't want to listen to that annoying talking rat any longer), in the hopes she will eat her sugar-laden Mini Wheats and put SOME TYPE OF FOOD in her little, running, crazy, fearless, adorable little body today.

But two days ago was just so bad. Nothing particular really happened. I just had little patience, high irritation, and low will to live. I made several depressive revelations in succession, and had no energy to deal with any of it.

A vague run down of where my life is at now:

• My house always ALWAYS smells vaguely of shit. Occasionally it's my own aroma being shared with the house, since my child is vehemently against me doing anything personal with the door closed. But usually it is a combo of festering poop diapers in her fancy odorless Diaper Genie pail (HA, odorless her ass!), the random droppings of my ancient blind Great Dane, or the random droppings from my child's butt in failed potty training attempts. No candle can burn all of that shit smell away.
• Dishes. So many fucking dishes. Spanning all the counter tops, and hiding on every other ledge in the house. Dishwasher not quite full enough to run right now with dishwasher safe items? Imma just plop all this highly meltable plastic kid shit in there and a few non-stick pans and fire that baby up!
• Laundry. Always. Then more laundry. My system includes forgetting clean stuff in the dryer for days, having to redo Hubby's stuff (I ALWAYS look like a bag lady, so what's a few more wrinkles to me?), and putting the clean clothes in a pile on the downstairs couch until inspiration strikes and I fold it. (Side note: possibly another 3-5 days until it is carried upstairs when one of us discovers we are totally out of something, like, say, pants).
• Insomnia. So tired I can fall asleep almost instantly, but dammit I cannot stay asleep despite all the sleeping medication in the world.
• No childcare breaks. I am at home with my daughter. I am perpetually battling injury/illness. Pain is exhausting and toddlers give zero fucks about your problems. She never stops. She sprints, she jumps into water, she tests me every 5 seconds, she fights 80% of diaper changes. I am so fucking tired ALWAYS (see above), and have family help for a few hours (often during nap time) maybe twice a month. My family lives provinces away, so when they come, I wanna hang out and visit and not sleep the time away. But I need breaks from my monkey.
• I am horribly impatient. Toddler games are cute for the first five or ten minutes. Then I don't want to play tea cups that spill all over, or pretend to eat mudpies. I have limited patience, and I feel shitty about it, but it's true. Nature walks are fun! If you're idea of fun includes repeatedly wiping gravel out of your child's mouth, standing still while they "fix" leaves with sticks, and don't mind moving 40 feet in about an hour. It's cute, but let's be honest: it's booooring day after day. Or maybe I'm just an asshole. Probably both.
  
• My child subsists on sugar alone, or sugar-laden wheat. I have begged her to finish her chocolate muffin or to at least eat her fries for our Mother's Day meal in the park (spoiler: she ate neither). She won't eat veggies, she rarely eats meat, she feeds mostly off of my desperate offering of every conceivable healthy food option in the house. That seems to satiate her; she has no need for food.

Oh, my Sweet, the world is your jellyfi- I mean... oyster.

I love my little monkey bum. She's so cute, and smart, and charming. I WANT to be a good parent for her, and give her all she needs to thrive. But it's tough not being able to leave and do anything for more than a few rushed hours to get back to relieve someone else. It's tough that she's such a handful that we don't trust many people to watch her, and worry when we leave her. It's tough that hubby and I can rarely do anything together outside of the house. It's tough that I want to keep breastfeeding her, and love the time, but that her latch seems to be getting worse and my boobies are sore all the time. It's sweet that she ALWAYS wants mommy, but tough to always be the one to soothe her despite how hard the Hubs has worked into her good books.

I know the days are long and the years are short. And there are more times when I feel so overjoyed with her. But I think the intense combo of everything above is just burning me out. Suck it up, buttercup. I know.

I just had to get it off my chest.


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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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The Importance of Followers & Comments

I read on another blog how important it is for there to be commenting and active dialogue between the blogger and the readers, so that it isn't so much one-sided storytelling.

I hope that those of you who come across my blog will be kind enough to "follow" me (to the right)

*shameless self promotion*

so that I feel that more than just BF and my friend J. are watching and reading me out there in the scary, vast, lonely interwebs.

I welcome any and all comments (including but not limited to - "you're effing nuts", "where can I purchase my own banana guns?", any and all theories on dogs and their fascination with the taste sensation known as poop [technically called "Coprophagia"], why I am so wrong about Michael B., requests for all of my personal banking information an pin numbers as well as helping princesses and diplomats from abroad via email who only need a few thousand dollars up front to make me rich).


EDIT: I didn't realize that you previously had to be 'registered' to comment. I have fixed it so that any shy folk out there can feel free to comment anonymously. Just don't be mean please.

While I am CLEARLY new to the blogosphere (that sounds really web-geeky but I still won't backspace and delete it... because I am bada-.... lazy), any and all support you guys can provide is appreciated.

I would also like to stress the importance of not drinking caffeinated beverages right before bed time, especially if you are on a strict, caffeine-free diet. Because that will almost CERTAINLY result in insomnia, somewhat-desperate sounding appeals for blog followers, and potentially beating your highest score ever on Word Bubbles after many many many many attempts! (Which sounds kind of fun, but really isn't right now).

It's hard to be taken seriously on this blog with my stunning good looks....

Okay, time to try to pretend to sleep. Work is going to be painful tomorrow.... Pin It Now!