I don't Have to Like It All to Love It

 

A few days ago I stumbled across this photo in my TimeHop app.  The caption I posted was "So this is how we are napping today...so much for a productive Saturday". Paisley was all of 3 months old and I had been back to working 40 hours a week for a month.  I was the emotional equivalent of a jack-in-the-box, and the stress of balancing work life and mom life was getting to me. I didn't have to read the comments this time, I remembered them.  I remembered the guilt just as well.

Each "time passes so quickly", "you won't miss dirty dishes in 20 years", and "this is the most productive thing you can do" seemed like a twist of the knife.  I "liked" the comments  because I knew they meant well, but in all truthfulness, I hated them.  I wasn't putting the cleanliness of my house at a higher priority than my daughter, yet I felt that people thought I was.  I just wanted to do some dishes so we had clean glasses to drink out of, maybe even get a shower if I was lucky.

Here is some truth for you:  I do not enjoy all aspects of motherhood.  Because not all moments of motherhood are full of warm fuzzies and rainbows.  There are a lot of really crappy moments when it comes to parenting a child (I mean that both literally and figuratively).

Now, before you think I am a cold, heartless monster let me just say I believe motherhood is a wonderful gift.  I wholeheartedly agree that the days are long, but the years are short.  I am fully aware that there are plenty of women out there who would die to have a baby keeping them from house work (I was one of them).  Combine these feelings with a desire to get some work done and guilt sets in.

Something I have learned in my short time as a mother is that it is okay not to enjoy every moment.  I don't have to enjoy sleepless nights, dirty diapers, or meltdowns when I leave her in the nursery.  Quite frankly, those moments suck.  However, it is part of the package deal, and I wouldn't trade that for the world.  That package also includes the snuggles, the popsicle sharing, the crazy dancing, the coloring, the bath time giggles, and the way she says "uh-oh" after she passes gas in the grocery store.

So, I am enjoying motherhood, at least the parts that are important.  And just because I would like my child to sleep in her crib instead of my arms doesn't mean I am not "soaking it in", it just means that I would like to wash some dishes (because I probably ran out of paper plates.)

The Time I Scared Dean With A Father's Day Card

Father's Day has always been an odd holiday for me.  When I found out that we would be having a girl, I was pretty excited to see the father daughter bond develop between Dean and Paisley that I was never able to really have. I am happy to say that they are think as thieves.  Paisley is a Daddy's girl through and through.  So naturally, I wanted to make his Father's days as special as I could.

I went to our local game store and picked a Magic Card (yes, he is a hard core geek) that has been on his wish list for a while.  Then I went over to Target to pick out some Father's Day cards while Paisley tested her lung compacity and my patience. Dean's was the easiest to select, a cute googly- eyed daddy monster being chased.  It said something along the lines of not being able to escape his little monster.

Father's day morning arrived much earlier than I would have liked.  Paisley has decided that 6 am is her new happy hour.  I straggled my way into the kitchen, muttered "happy birthday - I mean Father's day" to Dean and handed him my carefully selected card.   His reaction was not at all what I was expecting.  He read the card and just stood there with this puzzled look on his face.  Then he said "So... umm... what does this mean?".  Now I was confused, "What?!  What do you mean  - it means Happy Father's Day, what don't you get?".   Well, apparently, I picked out a card that was meant to be from more than one child.  Dean thought I was trying to tell him I was pregnant.  (I am not - let's not start rumors).  Once we cleared up that little misunderstanding we had a great day involving the playground and Pho.

And just in case I haven't made myself clear - we are not having another baby any time soon.

When A Weeks Feels Like A Month

 As you can see, I finally settled on a blog title.  "Don't Call Me Kate" wasn't horrible, but it just felt very juvenile to me. Not to mention, I am pretty much over my distaste for people calling me Kate. (As long as you know me well. If I met you 5 min ago and you call me Kate I will dislike you.) At one point this week, I found myself uttering the words "My Life's a Sitcom"  and I call it my light bulb moment.  So here we are.

My crazy week started last Thursday when Paisley got a bit of a fever.  I wasn't overly concerned until Friday night when instead of sleeping she would just cry in pain.  So, we took her to the walk in hours at the doctors on Saturday morning where she tested positive for Strep.  We had to skip a birthday party we were invited to and spend the weekend locked indoors with a cranky kid. 

Monday morning I discovered that Paisley has inherited her dad's Penicillin allergy.  I brought her back to the doctors office and freaked out about Scarlet Fever just to be told that it really was an allergy and my kid is not dying even if it sounds like it.  Monday also happens to be the one day a week that we need a sitter.  Our Sitter is an ED nurse. So I know she can completely handle a sick kid.  Paisley had pretty much the worse meltdown of her life when I tried to leave.  I am a genius and had to go back after I left and she settled because I left my wallet in the diaper bag.  Of course this caused another meltdown.  We paid the sitter a little extra that day.

Tuesday seemed to go as expected until the evening when I turned a little ghetto.  Living in the city has a lot of advantages, but sometimes it's a problem.  Like when there is some idiot screaming profanities outside your window at 11:30 pm and wakes you sick sleeping child.  I won't go into a lot of details, but I was marching down the street after someone at midnight in my PJ's.  Hell hath no fury like a mother with a woken child.  Or something like that.

We made it through Wednesday and Thursday with only a head knocking incident ( I was convinced she had a concussion, but apparently I overreact).  Friday came and I was feeling like I finally shook the week's curse.  Paisley had her 15 month check up scheduled and I had to work.  I no sooner get to the office and turn my computer on when Dean calls me.  He had locked him self out and needed to bring Paisley to her appointment.  Thankfully my office is less than 2 miles from home, so I was able to get home and back in a matter of minutes.   As if that wasn't enough, Dean texts me about 20 minutes later to inform me that someone rear-ended him so hard that he hit the car in front of him.  Every one and thing is fine.  The Air bags didn't even deploy, so it wasn't serious.  It was just one more slap in the face from this crazy week.  

Bring it Monday.  You've got nothing on me!