Why?

I'm feeling overwhelmed and totally inside my head this week. I'm not even sure why. I know my to do list is miles long, but most of it consists of projects that can easily be moved. Sure, most of it has already been moved from months ago, but still. I'm frustrated with our mail situation (the confusion caused a package from Anthropologie to be returned and, even though it will be resent, caused me a bit of grief). We've switched the way Isaac's business is set up, which causes a different way of doing bills every week and that is frustrating and way more time consuming, of course.

All this to say that I think it's the million and one things that have to be done, we commit to doing, we want to do that are all pressing down on my shoulders lately. I don't like it. I wish I had a day all to myself to catch up and reorganize and get re-centered. I really do. But, short of a miracle nanny for a day falling out of the sky, that won't be happening. So, I try to do what I need to do in bits and spurts throughout the day. I try to remember to schedule house cleaning amongst the want to's. I try to work through the paperwork that is still plaguing me from the move and try, as hard as I can, to shake the feeling of "never going to sell the house" from my mind.

Because that isn't doing anyone any good.

What I wish I could do...

(keane, enjoy the silence)

It's Not So Cut and Dry

I remember one fight my ex and I had. Well, one he had. I had told him (again!) that I didn't want kids and for the first time, I believe he actually heard me and got angry. Angry enough that he didn't speak to me, or acknowledge me for three-ish days. I never understood why THAT time it penetrated, but it did and he holds tight to the belief that that day was the impetus of our demise.

Fast forward to when Isaac and I were dating. He also knew I didn't want kids, but the difference was that he accepted it. Wasn't thrilled and always hoped I would change my mind, but loved me enough and understood enough that it was ultimately my body, my life being sacrificed, so the ultimate decision should be mine. If the conversation of kids ever came up in the first seven years of our marriage, it was because I brought it up. It was because I was trying to work through my feelings. It was because I wondered what was wrong with me. Why my "desire" was never there.

I didn't ever want kids. I didn't grow up hoping to be a mommy. I didn't hold a baby and feel wistful or hopeful or anything, really. I wanted more - to be more, do more. I didn't understand why I should be made to feel like I was a failure for a lack of desire. Once older, I was labeled selfish and unrighteous and everything else and I nearly believed them all. But I wasn't. Ok, maybe a little selfish, but...that isn't the reason. I simply had NO desire to have a child. It was a choice I had made just like other women make the choice (sometimes early!) to HAVE them. SAME. Same method of choosing, just different outcomes.

I've described how it felt to decide to have Sammy. It wasn't an easy decision for me and in the end, I NEVER got a feeling of "oh, YES! Let's have a kid!". I basically realized it was now or never and jumped. So I have STILL never had that desire, that drive to have children. I have NEVER had that burning desire to stay home and be a mom. I have regrets and guilt that I can't have more, but it's so very opposite of the DESIRE to have more. Because if I could? It would be just as hard of a decision now as it was then.

I've been following this blog and her essays on Elizabeth Gilbert's comments on motherhood. Oddly, I mostly agree with her. Mostly. However, I feel so deeply for Gilbert, especially with some of the comments on her blog. I find I fall way more on the side of Gilbert than on the side of the women who feel she is such a disservice to our gender. I don't think we're being fair to her. Not every woman thinks of motherhood in the grandest of emotions. Not every woman is cut out to be a mom. It's not black and white. There ARE emotions that play into it. There ARE sacrifices to be made and sometimes I'm not sure they are worth it. That doesn't mean I'm a bad mother. That doesn't mean I'm a selfish woman. That doesn't even mean I'm abnormal, I don't think. I think it makes me human and real and not like everyone else.

Music I'm loving today:

(keane, somewhere only we know)

I'm a Monster, Yes I Am

Potty training nearly stopped me from becoming a mom. I was (am) so fearful of it that it was listed as one of the top three reasons just to not have children (seriously). I cannot deal with poop. I just can't. It is fair to say that Isaac has changed WAY more of Sammy's dirty diapers than I. It is fair to say that I pray that Sammy waits until Isaac is home to poop. It is fair to say that I've wondered if there is someone I could pay to train him for me.

We have had a couple of unsuccessful runs (no puns intended...) with potty training in the past few months. We were making some progress when we moved and then (yada) I bought a 100 pack of diapers. The other morning, Sammy pooped in the toilet for the first time. Complete accident. He was thrilled and so very proud. Toys were bought, he eschewed diapers and declared it the rein of underwear. Nearly 24 hours. That's how long our streak lasted. He has peeing down. Wore underwear to bed last night; completely dry. Today, did great. Until about a half hour ago when he pooped in his underwear. My biggest nightmare.

In between cleaning him up (and alternately freezing him - couldn't sit in the tub for this - and scalding him - water got too hot when I turned to puke) and cleaning ME up, I got mad. I threatened to throw his toys away. I threatened to not only throw away his poop underwear (I'm not the "I'll just clean it" kind of mom...) but ALL of his underwear so he had to wear diapers forever. I threatened to make HIM clean up the poop. I called him a baby. I told him he didn't have a choice and he WOULD be wearing a diaper the rest of the day. I told him how mad I was and how I didn't want to talk to him. I did everything we swore we wouldn't do. And then I sent him to time out. I sent my kid to time out for not continuing the perfect record of "2 times in the toilet" he had going and for having an accident. I sent him to time out. Because I am a less than stellar parent and having to deal with poop makes me so ill I couldn't think straight. And he had NO clue why I was so mad at him. He apologized and told me to be happy. And I sent him away, again, because I couldn't deal.

I'm such a fabulous person...


(wrap your arms around me, bnl)