Little Women

I've played around with this blog for a number of years now.  It started off as a release, a way to express my feelings about this new and unexpected life as a full-time mom.  In the end, I found myself consumed with playdates, managing mom's groups, and taking care of my general household duties, and writing took a backseat to the million other things that need to be accomplished on a given day. 

Then it happened.  I had another child.

Sending my B-Girl to Kindergarten meant she was a Not-So-Little Person anymore.  My days went from entertaining her to toiling away at my unsatisfying job from 8:30-3 most days.  I'd say that "miserable" is the word that covers how I felt once she was gone all day.  As my job situation worsened, 40 also loomed on the horizon.  It was now or never . . . and now I have a 7 year old second grader and a baby. 

There's now a Mo in the house.  This girlfriend is nothing like her sister.  She will only nurse, bottles are forbidden.  She's usually up multiple times during the night.  Anyone not named mom is the enemy.  Mo makes her big sister seem like the easiest baby that ever existed (outside of those few fun-filled months of colic).  My days are an excited rush of taking my B to school, nursing, entertaining the Mo, working, assorted Girl Scout tasks and activities (because I can't just let my daughter be a Scout, I have to help as a Leader), letting my house become a mess, maybe cooking dinner, but just maybe, and keeping them bathed and dressed.  On a good day I can go to Stroller Strides and sweat off the garbage food I can't keep my hands off of. 

So what does it all mean?  It means that I'm still lost.  I have not been found, as I had mistakenly hoped when I conceived this lady in the fall of 2017.  My friendships have fallen by the wayside.  My job situation, after devolving, has now stabilized but I'm back to where I was when my B was a baby herself.  My home is a complete disaster, in the worst state it has ever been in with no relief in sight.  I have become marooned on Baby Island.  While I may be lost, it doesn't mean that I can't find myself again; it's just a new version of myself, yet again. 

I CAN manage my time better.

I CAN stop feeding my face out of nervousness.

I CAN do better at reaching out to others.

I CAN make dinner every night . . . come on, who am I kidding with that one?