Motherhood is a big mishmash of highs and lows. Really highs, and really lows. I am almost four years into this and I keep working on accepting that things will never again be normal. Calm. Predictable. 

My sweet friend Anca mentioned to me that I need to find my “new normal.” She’s right, you know. It’s high time I found my new normal because what I used to believe was normal now seems a bit boring. Although I really do miss the connection I used to have with Husband, before children. Now our connection is in the form of two small people. We’re too young to throw the towel in on romance. I informed him last night when we were taking turns rocking TWO (does anyone else’s child scream like their faces are being ripped off when they are teething? ONE never did this.) that we need to work on our “spark.” I find that it’s hard to do that when children are screaming.

So that’s the low. The adjustments, the changes, the acceptance that your body and your relationships and your life will never be the same. 

Here’s the high: little 9-month-old TWO learned to pull himself to standing position yesterday. And I was here to see it.

What I found when I walked in …

TWO working his way over to me …

So proud of himself!

It’s 1:08 p.m. and my energy is waning. I want a coffee so badly that I’m foaming at the mouth.

In other news, my mother and I went on an outing last weekend to this place called Corks N Canvas, where we painted these fabulous works of art:

It was so fun! This picture was taken at 10:15 p.m. after three hours of painting. I’m not used to being out that late these days.

Question … if I end up eating more because I’m craving coffee, doesn’t that cancel out the good that I’m trying to do? Work with me here — I’m trying to validate the *action I am about to take. 

* action involves brewing up SOME kind of tea or something before I DIE.

I believe the time has come for me to give up coffee. It depresses me just to type those words.

You see … I’m off my meds again. I despise being on Lexapro, and I despise the whole idea of being medicated so much that I refuse to try out different ones to see if another kind would work better. Overall, I just don’t think my life is stressful enough to warrant medication. I think I just need to learn to deal.

I stopped taking it a few weeks ago and … to be honest … I’m feeling like a bit of a wreck. I am not calm. I yell. I get irrationally angry at my husband and I sometimes wake up in the morning with a crushing feeling in my chest. Perhaps it’s because there is a small child on top of me, trying to pull my earplugs out of my ears. But still, I don’t enjoy the feeling.

Yesterday I texted my girlfriend, “I don’t understand why I’m so stressed out!” and then shortly after that I saw TWO eating something that looked like fuzz off the floor and when I scooped him up and started pulling on the STRANDS OF HAIR that were hanging out of his mouth, I extracted A WAD OF SOMETHING THAT LOOKED LIKE WHAT YOU WOULD PULL OUT OF THE SHOWER DRAIN. From waaaaay down in his throat. He was literally eating a hairball.

On Sunday, Husband and the boys brought me home a beautiful bouquet of roses which I proudly displayed on the kitchen table in a crystal vase we got for our wedding. Exactly one day later, I discovered that ONE had poured milk into the vase and pulled a bunch of the petals off of the flowers. He did this while I was dealing with his little brother who had been crying for pretty much two hours straight.

So that is why I’m stressed. Children.

I’m thinking that rather than spend the rest of my life medicated, I should try green tea and B-vitamins and getting rid of stimulants. Ugh … that is SO not fun. But waking up with tightness in your chest isn’t a picnic either. So I’ll be chronicling my journey here for all of you to enjoy.

Day One: I’m on my second cup of coffee.

FIFTH: I’m hiring a yard man and I don’t feel bad about it in the least.

I was trying to wait until our finances were more in order before re-joining the YMCA here in Baton Rouge, but then I had a four-night … or maybe five … I’ve lost track … span of dealing with TWO waking up every few hours crying from teething pain. During the day, ONE has been acting out a lot, probably because he’s adjusting to our new life. I’d like to go ahead and tear my hair out now, thank you.

All of my days are starting to run together and I’m finding myself thinking more and more that I should just give up on this stay-at-home business and go work somewhere far, far away from my kids. Don’t judge me. Sleep deprivation makes me a desperate person. I must get a break from the children.

So this morning, I decided to take control of my own destiny. I packed up the kids and drove to the Y to fill out the necessary paperwork. I just couldn’t take it anymore. The crying, the whining, my lack of sleep … I can’t take it. Not one more day.

I went ahead and signed Husband up, too. He needs exercise. He will probably never, ever go to the gym, but at least the opportunity is there if I offer sexual favors in exchange for him taking care of his health he changes his mind for some strange reason that I have nothing to do with.

Once I was back home and finally got the baby to sleep I was looking at the website and made a discovery that literally caused me to gasp and clap my hand over my mouth: there’s a masseuse at the gym here. 

A MASSEUSE. 

I can literally drop off my kids, get a massage, attend an exercise class, and pick my kids up again. Although … they may not recognize their mommy when I return. It’s been a LONG time since I didn’t look a bit crazy out of the eyes. Also, it’s possible that the massage services are meant primarily for the geriatrics who are members there. Do I care? Not one bit. 

YES, PLEASE.

Today I walked into my parent’s church holding TWO in one arm and our diaper bag in the other. There were a lot of people. I was a tiny bit overwhelmed. As I spoke to the nice lady who greeted us at the door, I had a vague feeling that something was happening.

ONE was pulling my dress up. Way up. 

Hi there. I’m here to worship the Lord. Why don’t I show you my ass too, while I’m at it? 

  
No, I do not want to talk about why my kid was outside wearing nothing but underwear.

Only 79 more days until the first day of preschool.
Only 79 more days until the first day of preschool.
Only 79 more days until the first day of preschool.

Guess who’s still waiting on her Mother’s Day acknowledgment?

This girl.

I use the word acknowledgment because I do not require a gift. A card would do. Or flowers. Or breakfast. Anything is better than nothing. 

Yes, I’m bitter. I’ve mentioned it to Husband. Then I threatened that he will be getting absolutely zero for Father’s Day and then I felt horrible. Has anyone else encountered this? I probably just need to suck it up and press on. Or better yet … buy my own acknowledgment.

I miss the gym. 

I miss it a lot. 

I haven’t been to a Zumba or yoga class in almost two months and I am pretty sure it’s the main cause of my unraveling. Not the moving. Not the lack of money. Not the stress of starting a new life or the worry that our house in Alabama won’t sell. 

Nope, it’s the lack of “me time” that can only be found at a gym that offers childcare. This is why I feel so cranky. A girl just needs a BREAK. And by break I mean a one-hour time slot where I am away from my children and husband and no one can ask me anything.

I am planning to re-join the YMCA down here in Baton Rouge, but I have to wait a few more weeks until paychecks start rolling in. Hopefully I’ll make it without imploding or eating one of my children or shaving my husband’s legs in his sleep. Wish me luck.