A year later

It's been a year since I've posted to this blog. A whole year. Wow, blog neglect.

During that year, I have been spending what little writing time I have on a twice-monthly column for my local paper, the Times Colonist. I've had modest success with it and it's been a lot of fun. But it has also meant that I simply don't have time to blog on a regular basis.

I'm thinking of just letting the blog go and trying some new version, with a firmer focus. Hey, nothing lasts forever in this world.

P.S. Happy feast day, St. Gianna! Fifty years in the presence of the Lord! Pray for us.

To the perfect pregnant ladies

Dear pregnant lady with the model limbs and basketball belly,

I am so pleased you are enjoying your first pregnancy, still wearing your favourite jeans cinched under your perfect belly with a Bella Band while eating salad and taking Pilates class. Good for you! How wonderful you can still work 50 hour weeks and have all that energy for jogging. How great you are gaining 20 perfect pounds. I am sincerely glad you enjoy being pregnant.

But sister, can we talk? You see, there's one little problem, one I don't even know if you can help solve, but in light of The Sisterhood of Pregnant Ladies, I hope you'll try.

You see, your glowing happiness is great -- but for some reason, people seem to take it not as the wonderful ideal, but as the pregnancy standard. They see you running five miles and they expect all of us to do it. They see you working overtime without being the least bit fatigued, and suppose that is normal. Heck, they see you keeping your old, pre-pregnancy routines even, and consider those of us who can't as somehow failing.

Some pregnant ladies experiencing these wonderful pregnancies also seem to fall into this trap. They are often the ones I overhear talking about how pregnancy isn't a medical condition, but a stage in life, and rolling thier eyes when discussing friends who needed medicine for morning sickness.

I know you're not like that, of course. That's why I'm calling for your assistance.

Many of us pregnant ladies are not like you. Some of us are unfortunate and are really sick -- that was me in my last pregnancy. But the rest of us, myself now included, are not seriously ill. What we are is exhausted, sore, overwhelmed and cranky. We used to handle stress wonderfully, but can't cope as well now that we're cooking a baby. We worry about what everyone is saying about our reduced superwoman abilities.
But most of all, we live in terror of being compared to you. Because there is no way we can survive that comparison without damage.

So, my fortunate friend, please continue to glow and jog and work and ride your bike and have an amazing pregnancy. You should sincerely enjoy and cherish this wonderful blessing.

But the next time someone points out the exhausted, bedraggled pregnant woman in the office or the restaurant and says, "You're pregnant, and you're not like that," please stand up for her. Point out every woman and every pregnancy is different, and while you wish every pregnant woman was as fortunate as you, that's not always the case.

Thanks. I can promise you, as the woman with the wonderful postpartum experiences, I will viciously stand up for you when your baby has colic, you have PPD, and someone points out you haven't washed your hair in a week. In fact, I'll even come over and lend you a hand.

Sincerely,

The Tired Out Pregnant Lady

One thing they don't tell you about children...

... is how inherently selfish and self-absorbed they are.

We try very hard to teach our kids to be empathetic and polite little people who think of others. Sometimes it works, but a lot of the time it doesn't.

An example: Big I. has been refusing to go to sleep at night. He makes noise, talks, jumps in his brother's bed, gets up and demands hugs, etc. It is driving me insane, keeping his siblings awake and is stealing what I have of down time in a day, when I neither parent nor work. When dealing with these antics, I can't make lunches or sign permisison slips or any of the other things I do for them after they sleep and before I sit at the computer.

I've explained to him, over and over, that this is not OK and makes mommy very, very cranky (and lands him in time out and with Xs -- three Xs and he loses his allowance for the week.) Nothing works, and he continues to act out this way rather than telling me what's making him act like this. I can't ignore him, because it wakes the others.

Tonight, an hour and a half of this nonsense led to two Xs, the curtains in the boys' room being pulled down, and waking Toddler N, who promptly started to scream in that "I've woken up sick as a dog" way.

As I tried desperately to give N. Tylenol and take her temperature while checking her for serious symptoms, he kept acting up, yelling and bouncing and squirming on his bed.

Finally, I put N. down, went into his room, turned on the light and chewed him out. Wow, sucky pareting moment right here.

After I finally calmed N. back to sleep, I went back into the room and apologized for losing my temper, and had a good talk with I. I told him I loved him very much and he was a good boy, but these nighttime behaviours were not OK and not good and were hurting everyone in the house. We talked about our agreement this week (he will try to listen the first time and I will try hard not to raise my voice.)

Look, I have no idea if this agreement will work out. All I know is he has to start going to bed. He's five. Bedtime was, for a long time now, the good end to a long day. For the past two months, it's once again become the most stressful time of the day for me. It hasn't been like that since I used to have to sit in their room for hours at night to get them to sleep. I refuse to go back to that.

The hardest part of being alone is dealing with these sorts of things and having no one to take over when you feel you are losing your cool. When C. is here, we spell each other off. When alone, it's just me. Although I'm a good mom, my children are adept at finding something that irritates me and notching it up to torture level. It's exhausting, especially since I can't use healthy guilt (pointing out how his behaviour affects others) with Big I. He has none.

This stuff is hard. Most days I do well, but today was just one of those days.

Another failed mommy badge

The Hubby left this morning for a month-long sail, after being away the week before. He felt rotten about missing Hallowe'en, but he was comforted by the fact that he managed to make it to Big I.'s father-child pumpkin-carving party last night.

Big I. has an absolutely wonderful kindergarten teacher. This same teacher taught A. two years ago, and she is a gem. Hallowe'en is a big time in her class; besides the pumpkin-carving party, she hosts a "Halowe'en Howl" for parents to attend, and then a class party.

The Howl was today, and it is a chance for the children to perfom some Hallowe'en songs for their mommies, daddies and the occasional grandparent. I. was very excited about it, and came home earlier this week clutching a handmade invitation for me. I looked into his sweet little face and had to say, "I'm so sorry, honey, but I can't go."

Work has been insane. Completely, utterly and absolutely insane. We seem to be inundated right now, and everyone is working flat out. Plus, several of my coworkers have been sick, and several more had bought tickets to the U2 concert in Vancouver. The office was half empty today, so the rest of us were running around, madly trying to do the work of two people at once. The whole week has been like this, so I knew there was no way I could miss most of a morning at work.

I work downtown, but our PMQ is about a 30-minute drive west of the city's core -- more like an hour at rush hour. To get to his Howl, I would have had to leave work at 10 a.m. to make it to the school, sit through the 30-minute party, then head immediately back to work, arriving back around noon (and that's with the van, not by bus.) Two hours to make a half hour party. I knew it just wasn't possible.

He was disappointed, but seemed to perk up when I suggested he invite V., the nanny, and his sister N. V., my saving grace in my working-parent hell, took meticulous video of the entire thing, which I sat down and watched in full just now. By the end, I was sobbing.

Big I., my boisterous, funny and fun-loving guy, just stands there during all the songs. No singing, no actions, no jumping and clapping. He actually turns his back on the teacher for several minutes and just stands there  with his head hanging down and his lip out. He missed me so much he didn't even want to participate.

When I got home, he told me he has enjoyed the Howl, but he also pointed out, "C.'s mommy was there. Her mommy made it to the Howl." C.'s mom is an at-home mother, you see.

My friend Karan invented the Failed Mommies Club awhile ago, for those mothers who just don't make the mommy grade nowadays (and so said mommies can get together now and then and drink wine.) I think I earned another Failed Mommy badge today for:

1. missing my son's Hallowe'en school event;
2. sending the nanny with a videocamera instead (and even having a nanny in the first place -- tut, tut!);
3. doing it on the day his father sailed for a month;
4. working a demanding career downtown instead of a mom job or (as the much smarter mommies do) keeping the demanding career but working from home; and
5. working so far from home that these sorts of events are sometimes impossible.

Never mind the homework I do with A. every night, or the fact that tonight I cooked a healthy meal, cleaned up, baked cookies with the kids for the actual Hallowe'en party tomorrow, made A. get a shower, made lunches and put all three kids to bed alone. No matter how super a mother you are, you are always a failure when you break your child's heart.