True story.
As a child I had a HORRIBLE temper. I would cut up my siblings' clothes, I would toss my brother's personal items over my bedroom balcony into our backyard, I even have been known to throw a dish or two in my day. Although 95% of the time I was a sweet, kind, and peaceful kid - it was the other 5% of the time when people would have to watch out.
Thankfully as an adult, writing became an outlet for my temper.
Now, as opposed to pulling out a bat when I get mad or cursing like a sailor, I pull out my laptop and write an "enraged letter" to my offender. Though this sounds benign, I have been put on "writing punishment" by several friends who have witnessed that my words oftentimes get me in more trouble than if I would have pulled out a knife.
This is all to to explain the moment when I knew that I had to start blogging about the insanity of this thing called, "motherhood".
On this one particular day, Roman had a weekly weigh-in which was always a particularly stressful day for me. His appointment was in the afternoon and my husband had gone to the gym while I got myself and the baby ready.
By noon I realized that, yet again, I hadn't eaten so I popped my "adrenaline bars" (aka Pillsbury Chocolate Chip Cookies) into the oven so my blood sugar wouldn't crash before I had a chance to come home and cook dinner.
I nursed Roman, dressed him, and put him into his swing so that I could run into the shower and get dressed.
Just as I turned the knob of the shower to enjoy a few moments of quiet and solitude, I heard...
"WAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!"
I made a quick calculation in my head. Do I go get the baby? Or do I jump in the shower and wash up quickly since I know that it takes exactly 3 minutes and 30 seconds to wash my face, lather, rinse off, and shave my arm pits?
I decided to go for it.
As I washed my body with the speed of an Isreali solder, I heard the continuous wailing of my son in my ears.
"WAAAAHHH!!!"
"WAAAAHHH!!!"
"WWWWWWAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
I jumped out the shower somewhere around the 2 minute mark. My nerves were so bad that my hands were shaking. I knew that my husband would return any minute ready to go and I mildly resented the fact that he was somewhere working out while I was at home trying to balance this insanity.
Dripping wet, I ran into the living room to get the baby out of his swing, because the sound of his crying became discombobulating. As I put him in his carseat and stroller and pulled him into the bedroom while I breastpumped, my cocker spaniel began to go berserk - barking and running circles around the stroller like a maniac.
I tried desperately to find a quiet place in my brain, at least for a moment so I wouldn't have a panic attack. Just when I began to envision my quiet beach on the coast of Bali, I was interrupted by the sound of another round of screaming from the baby.
I looked down and was grateful that I had managed to pump a bottle of milk quickly. Although my boobs would be lopsided, I knew that the other breast would have to wait a few hours until I returned home. Just when I picked the baby up, I heard the buzzer on the oven go off to signal that the cookies were ready.
Quickly, I put the baby back in his car seat and rolled him into the kitchen while the dog continued to run around the stroller in circles barking. In my haste (and hunger), I opened the oven and pulled the glass cookie pan towards me until I felt (and heard)...
Sizzzzzzzllllleeeeee. (Yep, the glass pan was baking my boob.)
In pain, I let out a scream that must have been heard down the hall of my apartment building.
As if they knew the severity of the situation, suddenly Roman and Capone stopped barking and crying and were staring at me in silence.
It was at that moment that I thought, nobody would believe this sh*t if I told them, so I knew I had to continue to write (if not as therapy for myself but to continue to amuse people with the random fiascoes of my daily life).
So if you are reading this, and if like me, you have days where you find yourself trying to breastfeed, take care of your two month old baby, calm your neurotic cocker spaniel, preparing bottles for a day out, trying to feed yourself, and trying to look half "un-homeless" while simultaneously injuring a vital body part on a cooking mechanism then it's time to stop, slow down, and let yourself off of the hook for not being superwoman.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment