Howdy. Joleen invited me to come on over and invade her lovely little space here on the worldwide web so with no further adieu, I'm Ashley and I write over on The Stork & The Beanstalk. I'm a California native, which means I live in the land of overweight dogs and push up bras but fortunately not overweight dogs in push up bras, but at times I wouldn't put it past some of the crazy folk that live here.
Some other things you should know about me: I have two children. I tried to birth both at home under the care of midwives but have been unsuccessful both times: the first time I ended up over 41 weeks and was sent to the hospital from my doctor's office. The second time I was transferred in an ambulance after my 9 and a half pound baby didn't want to come out. I'm doing a 52 week photo project on my husband, Willy. I have one picky eater and one who will eat anything, including pieces of our shag rug. Our house is almost always a mess; hiring a cleaning crew is one of the best decisions I've ever made. We travel a lot locally but I used to travel a lot internationally. I work part time as a nurse. I believe in limiting the amount of time it takes men to shit and putting your kids to bed early so you can enjoy a glass of wine. I've learned that the days may go slow, but the years go fast so I try to keep calm and carry on. On to the other day, when I was stuck in mom funk mode:
I pulled back the covers the other morning to get out of bed and realized, when I looked over at Willy who was still asleep, that my funk was gone. Willy had spent the weekend away, at a bachelor party. Bachelor parties always sound good in theory. I always support him getting a break and letting loose, and he does the same for me. But the two days he was gone were two of the more trying days I've had.
It started when I forgot to eat lunch and found myself completely run down and ill-equipped to deal with the usual evening shenanigans. It was one of those days where you pour milk into your cereal bowl only to find out it's expired and that was the last of your cereal. You know, those days where nothing "bad" really happens but a string of bumps in the road have you feeling like your riding on a pogo stick instead of gliding along on skates? It was one of those days. My body alone tells part of the story: Hooper rammed me with his giraffe-cycle, leaving a palpable bump and a barney purple bruise. Then Van fell over in the bathroom and in my rush to pick him up I stood up into the sink, my low back abruptly meeting the porcelain. Again, another palpable bump. This bruise turned yellow. I won't even mention the fact that Hooper proceeded to step on Van's chest like a monster jam truck riding over some junk yard tow away, though that did happen too. And, oh ya, there was that moment when I couldn't figure out why there was blood on the floor until I looked down and found two cuts on my foot. Not even sure how those got there. Then there's the usual breastfeeding battle wounds- the hair pulling, the nipple twisting, the biting, the face smacking- that all felt like icing on the cake to an already frustrating evening-turned-weekend.
It's not that the kids are any different when Willy's gone, but my capacity to deal with everything is less. And even more so if I forget to eat or have a shitty nights sleep; both of which occurred. It was one of those weekends where ordinary struggles like taking the diaper cream away from Van on the changing table while he's contorting his body in every which way to get off the changing table got the best of me. I found myself constantly mumbling, "Of course that just happened". Like when I went to let to let the dog in only to find that she was not ready to come in, so I sat down to feed Van only to hear her scratching the shit out of the wood on the door just as my milk started to let down. Or when I showed up to the carnival rushed and late only to take Van out of the car and discover he had pooped everywhere and I had no wipes. Or when I tried unsuccessfully to get both kids to nap at the same time but then finally succeeded only to lay down to nap myself and have the doorbell ring right as I was falling asleep. You know, it was one of those days.
All's well that ends well, right? We were supposed to go to the Conejo Valley Days carnival on Friday but there was a massive fire in the area and the idea of leaving the carnival with emphysema or lung cancer didn't sound too appealing, though it would be nice to use that health insurance we pay for every month. I joke. The air improved the next day, so we met up with friends on Saturday instead. A cold beer with good company hit the spot. Willy came home the next day and BOOM, life is back as it should be. Take that, you funk.
Do you ever experience mom funk mode? Stop by, tell me how you deal...
Special thanks to Joleen for inviting me to stop by :)