Beating Myself Up

I almost killed my baby. I'm not kidding. Maybe exaggerating a little bit, but I think I have the right. I dropped Julian. On his face. On the hard cold pavement of the driveway. It happened in slow motion, only I don't remember much of it, because it all boiled down to Julian is on the ground and may be really hurt. But he wasn't. He had a small red bruise on his forehead and was just fine. He cried for a few minutes, but got over it quickly.

I was shook up. How did I let him go? Isn't a mother's instinct suppose to be to care for her child first? How did I let him go? How? How? How?

I did hurt my ankle. It crept up on me over the rest of day, eventually driving me to the doctors for an xray. It isn't broken, but sprained. It's swollen and painful and has left me somewhat helpless. I would have felt better however if it were broken. A broken ankle seems more official. If I had a broken ankle that would almost justify dropping the baby, right? I know it is a convoluted equation that I have created. Silly.

And now here I sit, in a house by myself. The boys are with a babysitter, and I have been home all day with my ankle on ice watching bad TV. Of course this actually seems like a reward. How often do I have a day all to myself without having to do a single damn thing?

So now I feel guilty on top of it all. I am getting rewarded for being a klutz who dropped my eight month old!

Okay I'll stop now.

Welcome to my life

Poor Wes. He stood there in my doorway with his hands in his pockets as he watched the chaotic scene unfold. Wes is the father of a little girl in Evan's preschool class. He came dutifully to retrieve a stuffed kitty cat that the girl had left at our house earlier that day. Wes only has one little girl, and I do not believe he is accustomed to the type of crazy he happened upon last night.







I suppose it was the perfect storm. It was 5:30, the witching hour. I had dinner cooking on the stove, Julian who was sitting in his highchair had just tired of his blueberries had begun to wail helplessly. Moments earlier I had informed the boys it was time to turn the television off, so a meltdown was eminent. The doorbell rang. Just as I answered the door, Zachary screamed, and didn't stop. "EVAN BIT ME! HE BIT ME!!! EVAN IS EVIL." And then Evan started crying. Wes wanted to get Kitty and get the hell out, but I invited him in, since I wasn't expecting him and had no idea where the stuffed animal was. He declined my offer and didn't take one tiny step in . Each one of my boys was crying at full capacity. Welcome to my life Wes.







Luckily I found Kitty quickly so I could hand "her" off and attend to my wounded boy, naughty son and crying baby. I watched Wes leave. Take me with you Wes. Take me to your peaceful home, where you will have dinner with your quiet little family. For the love of God, take me with you. He left.







I examined Zachary's leg and he had in fact been bitten. Brothers. This is my life. This scene which probably scared Wes for life is nothing unusual. I just hope someday they boys will be best friends, making it all worth it.

The picture I wish I could take.

It seems that many bloggers also happen to be fantastic photographers, and thus the "Wordless Wednesday" and "This Moment" posts have been born. These talented parents are able to take photographs of their children that seem to capture a moment and all the emotion that comes with it so perfectly. Unfortunately, that is just not me. My photos usually include forced smiles or blurry, unrecognizable images.

I wish I had a digital image that I could post here, one that would capture the time I had tonight with my baby. It is a beautiful memory, and lucky for me, it is imprinted in my heart forever.

The picture I would have taken:

The weight of a nearly eight month old baby pressed against her in the dark. His breath steady and heavy. She sings to him in soft tones, her voice not necessarily beautiful, but close, she calms him. She pets his soft hair which smells faintly of baby shampoo and lavender. The street light pours in through the window and the naughty laughter of children breaks through the quiet erratically, like waves breaking against the shore. Peace and quite found in the chaos, as slumber approaches.

Click.

Don't be fooled.

Yes, he is cute. Deceptively so. For you, he turns on his charms, his flirty smile, his precious coos. People compliment me on his pretty eyes and his skillful army crawl, but there is evil that lurks beneath his Gerber baby facade. He is slowly weakening me, breaking me down bit by bit. He isn't particularly creative, his torture techniques are well known and expected, but his expertise cannot be denied. He is a Master in sleep deprivation, this baby knows his stuff.

He keeps me up most nights waking me every several hours with his piercing cry. Try as I may, I simply cannot ignore his wailing. By morning he has broken me so that no amount of caffeine can chase away the cobwebs lodged in my sleepy brain. I give in to his every whim. I dole out empty calorie "Puffs" like frozen peas. I turn a blind eye as he chews on a crayon. I allow the older brothers hours of TV, anything to make it through the endless days. Don't tell me this baby doesn't know exactly what he is doing.

Follow up letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

Thank you for the Christmas gifts. I especially liked my glowing lightsaver, but that was from Nana & Grandpa, not you. Don't worry I liked the stuff you brought too, like the Darth Vader alarm clock even though mommy says our family hasn't had use for an alarm clock in six years.

I also like my Star Wars pajamas, but mommy told me that they make me look like a silly teenager because the pants hang off of my bottom. She is mad that you don't seem to know my size. It's okay Santa, I like them big!

Santa, I have a few questions. First, was my brother Julian on the naughty list? He didn't get very much for Christmas, and what he got was really boring. Baby wipes? Pureed carrots? I feel sorry for Julian. Maybe that is why he has been crying so much lately.

I also want to know if you can come back before next year. I really liked my play dough set, but I mixed all of the colors up and now I only have grey. Mommy keeps finding bits and pieces on the floor and throwing it away. She can be mean like that. I would like more play dough. I would like more candy canes. I would like an Ipad II. If you can't make it back, I suppose I could ask for these things for my birthday. I already know that I am having a Superman-Transformers-Buzz Lightyear themed party. It's going to be some cake. You can come to my party if you want. Then it could be a Christmas party too.

My older brother Zack gets mad at me sometimes. When I yell at him he tells me that I won't get any presents for Christmas. Is that true? I am usually not naughty. Well, sometimes I'm not naughty. I do like presents, so I hope he is wrong.

I hope you liked the cookies that we left for you, one fell on the floor, but mommy picked the dog hair off of it. I hope you didn't get the stomach flu after you came to our house. Everyone else did.

See you soon!

Love,

Evan

See you next year.

2012: I'm Back!

2012, and I have yet to post. It is not that I have lacked for material.

I have kicked around many ideas:

New Years Resolutions for the kids. (Julian, eliminate all midnight, 2 and 4 am snacking. Evan, expand repertoire of insults beyond "poopyhead." Zack, pee in the toilet, not on or around it! )

If looks could kill. The bay area seems to be jam packed with crabby people who don't like children. It's as if this society demands women with children just stay home until the kids are grown. I have had far too many dirty looks while out in public with my kids. It's happened at the grocery store, on the street and while dining at local cafes. I don't get it. Babies, and kids are part of this world. Why do so many people dislike them? Sure, there is a time and place, but if you are having breakfast in an establishment that features highchairs and a children's menu, please, wipe the look of disgust off of your face when you are seated next to my family.

I hate Mel Gibson. Come on do I need to say more?

And I have had others, yet, I just haven't had the energy to fight with my computer and pound out a post. Today however as I was wallowing in a funk, I decided to turn a new leaf. Yes, I am a little tired and I have been dying for a vacation, just some "time off" from my life as mommy. However, this is my life and I had better make the best of it.

So this morning, before my husband headed off for his day out with the guys I put on my running shoes and went for a jog, the first in a long while. Then I came home and put on a dress and some lip gloss. I got dolled up (thus the picture) for my movie date with my sons. And you know what? It made me feel like a million bucks. And now, I am here writing on this little blog.

I'm back.

Watch out.