How come some days, life seems so easy... and other days so difficult??
This question trots around in my mind as we enter day 4 of my week at home with the two boys.
I am embarrassed to admit it (after all, millions of strong women breeze through this childcare lark for far longer than 4 days without so much as a cross word), but what is a blog for if not for truthfulness?: it's been (not quite) 4 days, and I am already feeling shaky.
On Monday, it was easy. I relished being here with them. I was creative and enthusiastic and chatty... and I showed admirable patience when it came to coaxing a few bites of non-sweet food down BB's throat.
By mid-afternoon, I was feeling so serene I actually started to wonder whether the decision to pursue my career might not have been the wrong one. After all, I was GOOD at being a mother! Just look at my happy, clean, fulfilled little guys! Yup, I was on top of things.
On Tuesday, there was the birthday party and the shopping and the victory of forward planning over potential tantrums. Again, I felt pretty damned chuffed with myself.
On Tuesday night, LB decided that lone sleeping was no longer for him, and screamed until we caved in, shuffled up to the edges of our bed, and let him occupy the middle zone.
I notched up around 2 hours sleep (off and on), before my little bed-friend decided it was time for the day's activities to begin.
Wednesday, I cannot even claim as my own, since FH had the day off work, and the four of us headed to the beach to spend a fun day with my uncle, aunt and cousins.
And now, it's Thursday. My attempt to shower and wash my hair turned into a military operation, restricted somewhat by the handicap of having one child clamped to my leg and another poking at my wet head and asking (in an increasingly shrieking tone): But WHY are you washing your hair, Maman??
It's 37° (did I ever moan about the cold? Me? No....), and the attempt to push the mega buggy to the bakery and buy a baguette (really, my objectives are modest) ends in sweat and tears.
I stick them in front of a DVD and hope to god they won't get sick of it too quickly.
Their constant demands for attention, their absolute and all-encompassing need for me to be right there, right now ALL THE TIME is starting to make my head throb.
As I seriously contemplate piling them into the car, driving over to FH's office and dumping them both on the threshold... the old fear creeps back: what if I'm not actually cut out for this??
I think I have a lower-than-average tolerance of whinging. I think I have an above-average need for solitary time. I think I just found a piece of glass wedged into my big toe.
I think I just need to Keep Calm and Carry On.
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