It's hard to blog when my son is screaming. Shrill wail piercing my thoughts. We are sleep training, which basically makes us walking zombies. In some ways I suppose I am more fun like this, after all, I have abandoned my normal routine pursuits, because If I tried to maintain normally during this process my head would explode, so I have more free time, but feel oddly untethered. The normal gravitational forces of my day are absent, no workout, none but the most basic cleaning. I am also more likely to give in, my resolve worn thin. Yes, by all means, watch a movie, or go upstairs alone with your sister, never mind the highlighter than will inevitably add to the wall decor when I check on you later....
How did I get like this, I wonder. A few short years ago I was reveling in the ignorance of my ignorance, otherwise known as youth. I'm sure I was "that girl" as the song says, carefree and singing at the top of my lungs, barefoot. I wonder if there is a way to get anything done in your adult life and still hold on to vestiges of that person....after all I'm sure it was she my husband was attracted to, not this perpetually stressed housewife who looks like she needs three days of sleep and some eyeliner, and possibly a real bra, because you know, I feel like I've been wearing a nursing bra for as long as I can remember. But then, I wouldn't want to be one of those sad cases of thirty something mothers who still try to dress and act like they're 22, so I guess if that's the alternative, old is better than tacky.
Yesterday, my husband watched the kids for a couple of hours in the evening so I could go out with a friend. You know where we went? The fabric store. And I liked it. I vaguely feel there must be something wrong with this, but I can't put my finger on it. My mind has been consumed by my children, like parasitic syphons whom you love. Strange thing, this mothering. To tell you the truth, if any of you cost me this much sleep, we would no longer be friends, and if any of you gave me this much fat, well....
In any case, I dimly remember surviving this phase with my other children, (although that may be why my hair is turning grey now), so I'm sure (almost) that I will live this time, though with an increased understanding of how it comes to pass that older couples get Harley's. It isn't so much that I want to go back to who I was, because she was actually not as cool as me in several ways, but I want to teach this new mama person how to sing barefoot and laugh with abandon. I wonder if that is even possible? Someone please tell me it is before I start considering a Harley....
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