We interrupt your regularly scheduled focus-on-all-things-lovely reading to bring you...
So you know that scene in the movie The Holiday where Cameron Diaz and Jude Law are having lunch and he asks about her past and her family? And she almost panics and says something like,"I'll try to say it fast..." Remember that?
I'm taking a cue from Cameron.
Tuesday. Approx 6:15 pm. I threw together dinner and sat down with Josh as he filled me in on the happenings of his day. I tried to eat but Everyn wanted up, then down, then up, then down, then up, then down. The she signed she wanted to nurse. Then she bit me. Then Josh tried to take her. Epic fail.
The dogs were yapping and begging for food and dishes were everywhere despite my best efforts and I just wanted to ask my husband a question that was weighing heavily on me. Just, omg. Just one question. I needed his feedback.
Just as I was launching into it, he got up to clear the table breaking the all important eye contact, Ev threw her head back tantrum style because clearly no one had a clue what she wanted, and I snapped.
There was some yelling and baby screaming and he took Ev outside to calm her and I might have screamed into a pillow. (I do that now. Post baby. It's my thing and it's terrific. It releases all the tension all built up in my muscles and teeth and soul. No, I'm not kidding. Some days it saves my life. Ok now it sounds like I do it all the time. I don't. I can count on one hand how many... whatever. What am I trying to justify. On occasion I scream into a pillow. There I said it. And it's great.)
ANYWAY. Did I mention I was supposed to be writing? Yep. Tuesdays and Thursdays are highly guarded writing nights. Josh takes Everyn on a little date somewhere and I write. So he finally loaded her up in the stroller and took off, and I sat down to... stew. To grit my teeth. To obsess about my frustrations.
Can we just assume no writing was accomplished? Cool. We're on the same page.
A few hours later after Ev was down, I sat across from him in our bathroom post apology and sobbed something like this:
"I just feel like I can't.... I don't know what to... there's so much laundry. Ugh. So much laundry... there's sand in our bed and I hate the dogs... I just want the house to be clean for like, 5 minutes... I need more sleep... my whole body hurts all. the. time. I can't stop eating sugar and I never go for walks anymore and there are so many house projects I just... ugh... I just don't... I just feel like... why is my Ivy dying?? I have to finish this book proposal... when will I ever finish this proposal? And books, oh, I love them... do you think I'll ever get to read a whole book again?? I just feel like I can't... I don't know what to... is that a cup of sand in the bathtub?!"
He was kind and forgiving and gracious as always, and helped me identify exactly what was bothering me and come up with a plan to help.
And suddenly I felt better than I have in months.
He had also came home with three tiny containers of Haagen Dazs which I sat on the counter and devoured without apology. I think it was like, a zillion calories. That helped, too.
So to all you moma's out there in the trenches, I'm with ya! We'll survive this together. Somehow. If all else fails, there's always screaming pillows and Haagen Dazs.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming...