Monday, February 27, 2006

Worst Mommy EVER

Have you ever had the feeling that you might, in fact, be the worst mommy in the world? I have. This is not a rational thought- I love my little Man to pieces, bathe him regularly, and I have no hang-ups (pardon the pun) about wire hangers. But there have been moments in my new career as Mommy when I think that maybe I shouldn't have quit my day job.

The first time it happened was the day my boy turned two months old. I was getting him dressed to go to his uncle and aunt-to-be's wedding. Now, I have issues with baby clothes that have their closures on the back at the best of times (who designs these things?!), but this was the worst. Mr. Wiggly was lying on the floor. I pulled the shirt over his head... all good. Did up the crotch snaps (ugh, I HATE that word! "Crotch", not "snaps")... still OK. Then I became the Worst Mommy Ever. I caught the sweet, soft skin at the back of his neck in a snap. He yelled. He wailed. I cried. I scooped my baby up, kissed him, and prayed that no one was going to call Children's Aid on me. For a few irrational moments, I was sure that I did not deserve to have this poor baby. I was going to ruin him. He stopped crying after a few minutes, even before the red mark disappeared from his neck. It took me a little longer.

The second time was just a few nights ago. The little guy has been affectionately known as "Mr. Cranky-Pants" for a few days, now. We're pretty sure he's teething. We were having some nice quiet time, though, just me and my little buddy, before his bedtime. We were in his room. He'd had a bath and a story. It was time for his last meal of the day. All was going well... until he bit me. This might not seem like a big deal to anyone who has never breastfed (or had breasts, in many cases). He doesn't have teeth- how much can it hurt? Imagine someone taking a pair of pliers and squeezing your nipple (which is already a bit sore, might I add, from previous maulings) as hard as they can. Not surprisingly, I yelled. I didn't mean to; it was the shock, the pain- take your pick. I yelled and I frightened my baby. He let go immediately (Thank God!) and stared up at me for a half-second... and then his little face crumpled and he WAILED. I think I gave him the shock of his short little life. Once again I apologized over and over, and once again I cried all over him. This time, at least, the Hubby was there to comfort both of us. But how did I feel? All together, now: Like the Worst Mommy Ever!

I've been told by many people that this is something every mommy feels at least a few times. My own mother confesses to feeling that way after I rolled over for the first time... right off my changing table. I recovered faster than she did (notice a trend, here?), and I think I turned out all right in spite of my tumble. Then there was the time she took me to church with no underpants on... I'll let her tell you that one another time. The point is, I turned out OK. As for her being the Worst Mommy Ever? Hardly. I used to think I'd get her to raise my kids for me so they could have as good a mommy as I'd had.

I know I'm a good Mommy- at least, I'm the best one I can be. But I'm sure that I'll have lots more Worst Mommy Ever moments... and that the little guy will turn out alright in spite of them.

The Exercise Dilemma

I really thought it would have gotten better by now... the exhaustion, I mean. My boy is almost 6 months old (oh, how the time flies!), and I'm still pooped. Not that this is really something new for me; I've never really been bursting with energy, but... I guess maybe I was hoping for a miracle!

It's not because he doesn't usually sleep through the night... OK, so that's part of it. It's a lot of things. Sure, I'm not getting enough sleep, but I'm also not getting enough exercise. Thanks to various media campaigns and high-school gym teachers, we're all aware of the benefits of "regular, vigorous exercise" (it's always vigorous. Not fast-paced, not sweat-inducing, just vigorous). It will make me healthier, happier, and (you knew it was coming) more energetic. Yes, this vigorous exercise will fill me with vim and, well, vigor. But here's the problem, folks: I'm too freakin' tired to exercise!!! It's a cruel irony, isn't it? The apparent cure for my problem is made inaccessable by the very problem I'm trying to solve.

Time is a bit of an issue, too. I'd have to exercise when my boy is asleep, partly because my exercise of choice is strip-aerobics... not real appropriate for the diaper set at any time, and I don't think we'll be able to afford the therapy bills later on. So, exercise while he naps... hang on, that's my nap time! I know... if I exercised, maybe I wouldn't need to nap. But I'm too tired to exercise, and I need a nap before... well, you get the idea.

In the spring we'll go for walks. We'll go to the park, or just walk around the neighborhood. It's February, though, and the snow here is St. John's covers the sidewalks to a depth of about four feet. Not exactly conducive to stroller marathons, to say the least!

I'll get there. Some days I can do the physical activity thing, when by some miracle I have no desire to nap- it happens once a week, sometimes twice. Until then... I'm going to have a nap.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Time Goes By

You know what? I stink at time mamagement. I should have enough hours in the day to keep the house clean, play with the little guy, feed him, change him, etc., get some rest, cook, work on my blog, and spend time with the hubby. That's the problem with 'should', though. I don't think I've ever gotten everything done that I wanted to or thought that I 'should' in a day. And I think that's OK. There are too many 'shoulds' out there. I don't need to put any more on myself.

I'm going to keep trying, of course. And some days I'll probably be too hard on myself for not getting everything done, or not getting the right things done. I'm going to try to be easier on myself, though. Life (and babyhood) are too short and too precious to worry about that dust bunny in the corner.

As for the blog... I'll keep working on it. It might not be as polished as I would like, and maybe I'll only have the time (or the mental capacity) to post a thought of the day sometimes. Here's one:

I think I understand why mothers used to rub brandy on their babies' gums when they were teething. Not only could it provide relief for the cranky infant, but also for the cranky mother. "There's one for you... and one for me. One for you... and two for me. *HIC!*" Much better!

On another topic: I can eat chocolate again! I'm not going nuts with it (actually, I'm not a fan of chocolate with nuts, anyway), but I can have a treat now and then without giving my little guy gas attacks. Mmmmm... chocolate!