I want to sit down and plunk out a really perky post. Or, a thought-provoking one. Or… A poignant one about motherhood and all of the joy and ecstasy that it brings. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to write such a post, but today… Not today…
Today I’m muddling, and there’s just no getting around it.
I feel like I should be thriving. Like I should be blissed out, and living on fumes of happiness. Like the immense love that I feel for my newborn–for both of my babies–should cushion me from feeling any negative thing.
But as I learned in my year of birth and death the first time I tasted this motherhood thing, every positive has it’s negative. The glorious of life often contains tastes of difficulty.
It’s not that things are so bad. They aren’t. The girls are doing well. Little Miss really IS in love with her little sister. Baboo 2 really is remarkably easy-going (in fact I am feeling somewhat vindicated in sometimes saying that Little Miss is a ‘high-maintenance’ kid and was a ‘high maintenance’ baby). Husband is home, and helpful, and here.
But you see, I’m also so tired. The lack of sleep is draining me.
And Little Miss is also still two, and hates her bedtime, and has turned into a brick-wall when I want her to ‘listen and do.’ It’s enough to make me tremble with frustration.
And I still miss my Mom. Fiercely. We’re back into those May days when I start to see her home with her still in it for those last two months… When I look back without meaning to and remember those last days with her… I need those memories, but they hurt. And between the time of year and the motions of having an infant again the flashbacks are coming without warning, and without bidding and I’m trying not to let them knock me down when they come.
And my husband still leaves in a month. And even though that is ‘normal’ for us, it is hard, and scary, and daunting, and I just don’t feel at all up to it right now.
I want to be delighted and feel empowered by the new wonderment in my life. I want to be blissed out in the greatness of us all being together for a little bit before husband goes. I want to feel like I excel at being a Mom…. like I’m not faking it all the time… like I’m not sucking up the stage of the Mommy Theatre Troupe’s performances these days. I want to feel on top of my game, and able to tackle this thing called my life with grace and poise and happiness and steadiness. I want to not worry that I fixate on the negative and gloss over the positive. I really am so grateful for all of the wonderful, but I still feel myself simply stumbling. I don’t want to feel like such a drag.
But I’m not there right now. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I’m trying so hard, and coming up so short.
I’m worrying about next month and the feeling of a ‘normal deployment’ and I feel sheer terror at doing all of this parenting stuff by myself. Even if it is a ‘short one.’ Those months still look so daunting, and the word ‘alone’ so isolating.
So you see, I’m trying. And I know I will come out on the other side of all of this somehow. I know that the mind-numbing fatigue will ease up gradually until I wake up one morning in a few months or a year without the bags under my eyes and without having to drag my feet for the first mile’s worth of steps. I will get through this month of ‘lasts’ and get down to the months of ‘countdown.’ And he will come home, and life will go on and we’ll be on to the next set of challenges. We’ll get through it.
And until then, well… I guess I’ll just fake it, and continue just plugging on, doing my best, and hoping that I’m not screwing my girls up too badly in the meantime.
I just hope that’s enough.