I had a bit of a meltdown this morning, when, after I just finished telling my husband how I never get any time to myself, I had to feed Shaggy Boy clad only in my underpants.
Mr. C was at his office, doing something too silly to even mention. He asked permission and I granted it, so I can’t really blame him for not being home to help me.
The problem is, I am giving permission too often. I am run ragged right now, with more paid work than I can handle in the amount of time I have to do it. I wanted the work, and I took the jobs because now, more than ever, we really need the money.
On top of managing The Poo and Shaggy, it is just a lot of pressure. Especially with The HOT Fuss!™ making its triumphant return in the form of extreme constipation. Our switch to soy resulted in a a serious back-up, making the boy just as cranky as he was on the milk-based formula.
Good times.
Anyway, there I sat, naked from the waist up and a towel twisted around my still-wet hair, fuming about the inequites between men and women.
My husband really stepped it up, ladies. He is chipping in with the kids and the chores in ways I never imagined in my wildest dreams, but the reality still stands that if he wants to go get a haircut or work in his office that has a door that actually closes, he can just do it.
Oh, he asks me for permission, and I say yes. But he never has to worry about who will take care of the house or the children when he is gone.
When he told me he has a faculty dinner tomorrow night, I almost wept.
Today he asked me why I always seem so angry, and we hashed it out. I promised to ask for what I need, and he promised to listen when I tell him, no matter how subtly, that I am walking the razor’s edge between normal harried working mom and totally insane fishwife.
A few hours later, I sat on the couch and fed Shaggy once again. The Poo snuggled up next to me, hungry, as always, for my affection. She removed her dress-up shoes and waved her feet in the air.
“My feet are hot, Mommy,” she said. “Will you cool them off?”
And so, with my hands full of baby and bottle, I leaned over and gently blew on her pudgy toes. She giggled and kissed me on the face.
My life resembles nothing more than the theater of the absurd. There are plenty of days when I feel like the hamster wheel I’m on will go spinning off its axis, sending me hurtling through the universe toward certain death.
At least I know I’ll be laughing all the way there.
September 28th, 2008 at 4:44 pm
I have had that conversation with my husband many times since we had The Boy. It’s so frustrating because what I really want is for him to just notice these things and to not have to have me point them out, for him to take — and feel — as much responsibility as I do in our daily lives.
It’s not that my husband is a jerk or completely reliant on me. But the reality of, I don’t know, biology and sociology or some combination of stuff, is that, as a man, he is allowed to be oblivious sometimes.
September 28th, 2008 at 6:54 pm
Prune juice. I can’t remember how much at that age (1tsp?). Ask your pediatrician. When we switched to soy we started giving a tiny amount of prune juice in the morning with a medicine syringe.
Doesn’t need to be the fancy baby stuff. Just plain old prune juice.
Totally works and we still give the toddler a couple of ounces of it every morning with breakfast.
September 28th, 2008 at 7:01 pm
God, I remember those days all too well, with a 4 year old and a newborn. Egads. It just keeps getting easier, but those are fuzzy days of near-insanity. You’re doing great. I swear.
September 28th, 2008 at 8:15 pm
uhm so we had the same weekend huh?
seriously going to be writing a similar post this week (although not even close to as good as yours) and i only have one that causes me to have mommy melt down.
and the pic below of the little man - beyond adorable friend!
September 28th, 2008 at 8:54 pm
We went from breast milk to regular formula to soy to “liquid gold” which was the Nutramigen Lipil from Enfamil. Expensive as hell, but the only thing that stopped him from spitting up/puking every thing up, being constipated, being cranky and sad…
Even with a 5 yr old and a 3 yr old, I find myself having that chat with my husband, reminding him what I need and the help I would like. Hang in there, you’re not alone.
September 28th, 2008 at 9:12 pm
I’m so there with you–I don’t even have the energy to describe it.
Maniacal laughter is a good alternative to losing it, right?
Oh, and like you, my husband is amazing . . . when he’s here. But he also knows that be it a work obligation or a golf invitation, when he is not here, I will be, always, no matter my work load, and irregardless of my state of exhaustion.
September 28th, 2008 at 10:58 pm
Not that you were looking for advice, but I want to chime in with pgoodness and leeanthro… the soy formula worked for us just fine after some tinkering. I like the idea of a bit of prune juice mixed in. That would have helped us.
As for the main subject of your post, I feel your pain, friend.
Today I was at the end of my rope, and D said he’d take over with E. I went inside and tried to relax, but what did I hear? D had started up his tractor! What?! Where was E? I went outside and she was shivering from nervousness and trying to be brave, sitting by herself on some steps too close to the tractor’s path.
Where was that man’s well-educated brain? And why must I have every nerve fiber at high alert when I’m supposed to be “relaxing?”
Sometimes he’ll waltz into the room and say, “I’m going here, and I’m going to do this.” And I think, how does he feel so entitled to make those decisions?
By the time I ask free time (sometime when it’s convenient for him) and get that free time, I am broken heap of burnt toast and can’t imagine doing anything worthwhile or fun. Rinse. Repeat.
September 28th, 2008 at 11:05 pm
Just when you’re ready to hit get the car and just drive those pudgy toes make everything tolerable.
Hang in there friend. I understand. I do.
September 29th, 2008 at 12:07 am
I think that when we are Moms we often forget that it’s okay to ask for help and tell our husbands what we really need. I think a lot of us let it slip, and might be surprised by their ability to step up sometimes. I totally know how you feel about they don’t need to arrange for a babysitter just to leave the house.
Another great post - sometimes a hug or kiss from the child can really make EVERYTHING better.
September 29th, 2008 at 12:11 am
Oh, babe. Time to start saying no.
September 29th, 2008 at 8:05 am
I give permission far too often in my quest to be Super Woman. And then at least once a week Super WOman’s alternate personality, Fish Wife, rears her terrifying head. I welcome the company in my Cuckoo’s nest.
September 29th, 2008 at 8:16 am
My son had some serious colic when he was an infant. It was enough to drive me insane and my husband was lucky enough to “escape” to work every day.
Then I got meningitis and had a four day “vacation” in the hospital. (Boy did I ever need it!) My husband is not one to give praise (even when it’s due), but when he picked me up from the hospital he suddenly was very appreciative of how damn hard it is to take care of a fussy baby.
It will get better. Some day you will look at pictures of Shaggy Boy and wish he was this small again. DO NOT be afraid to ask for help.
September 29th, 2008 at 9:45 am
Good for you for having the conversation.
September 29th, 2008 at 10:43 am
I’m quite certain this was written about me and my husband—SAME STORY. GOD.
We’ve been watching the John Adams series on Netflix DVDs together, and you would not believe what Abigail Adams had to put up with. My husband (a political scientist) is all, “He’s doing such important things, though!” And I’m all, “That em effer. SHE should be the one with all of the GLORY. While he was out galavanting around EUROPE, she was nursing an entire family—four kids—back from the brink of small pox-induced death. Asshole!”
September 29th, 2008 at 11:52 am
Thank go for little girls with hot feet.
I hope it gets better soon.
September 29th, 2008 at 12:43 pm
My husband was at the arena for a total of 8 hours this weekend doing hockey stuff with our eldest. Yesterday, I took girls to the park, did laundry, made a roast beef dinner, baked pie with the girls and then, when he returned home at 5:00 p.m., I mentioned that I really needed to go down to my office to work after dinner. His response? “I didn’t know you had work to do!” I only mentioned it a few times the day before. I made it to bed by 1 a.m.
Sometimes this having it all kind of sucks, doesn’t it?
October 1st, 2008 at 9:56 pm
Yes, yes, and yes. I have a fantastic, wonderful husband, but still - yes.
October 3rd, 2008 at 7:45 pm
Oh do I ever feel your pain on this one. My husband is great about sharing the load too, but when he feels he must work (or even just really wants to), he asks but fully expects to be allowed to go in on weekends. I feel like I can’t, or that it would be a really huge favor to ask him to go it alone while I go to work on a Saturday. And then there’s the fact that my daughter doesn’t really mind if he’s away for hours at a time, but she hates it when I go. Motherhood is a different gig from fatherhood, no matter how much equality we try to impose upon parenting. But I do think it has sweeter rewards.
October 3rd, 2008 at 8:01 pm
You’ve TOTALLY hit the nail on the head. I feel that way too sometimes. It drives me absolute BAT crazy that the Aftermath can just “have to work late”, drop by a friends birthday bar bash or need some quiet time to himself, while I wade amongst the muck that is mommyhood. I’m always lamenting (internally) about how lucky he is, because I will always be here to do all that he is forgetting about. But still, maybe I’d like some time for ME. (and no, that doesn’t mean 10 minutes in the bathroom grabbing a quick shower).