It's just been one of those days. You know, the kind where you've procrastinated things all week and decide that you'd do it all in one day--one day before you leave on a ten-day vacation? Or the kind where your kids are unbearably cranky, extra whiny, extra bratty, and cry at the drop of a hat? Those kinds of days suck on their own, but to have them both on the same day is just downright annoying.
I admit that the procrastinating is my fault. I've always been really good at that. I always think I'll have plenty of time in the future to get certain things done, and I'm wrong. Every. Time.
So instead of getting things ready for our trip this week, I've been using my few minutes of free time here and there to rewrite my first manuscript (the one I don't really consider a manuscript at all because of how absolutely horrible it is). I've always loved the characters, but felt a little ashamed of the story, and even more ashamed of the writing. So, I thought, why not rewrite it all, start from scratch?
It's something I just started doing for fun, because of the fact that I'd written it off a long time ago, but now that I'm back into it, and I'm seeing that it actually has some promise with the way I'm rewriting it, it's been hard to step away. It's been hard to find that balance, as it usually is when I'm into something I'm writing.
So that little thing I decided to do for fun has now turned into a passion that fills nearly every moment of my free time, which isn't much. And between that and a screaming baby (which I explain below), I have been a procrastinating whore.
It's a problem. And the first step is admitting it, right?
Anyway, I'm suffering from the consequence today. Here I am, with a massive to-do list and three kids that are driving me BONKERS.
It took me an hour just to fold laundry. Yes, an hour. Because my two-year-old's favorite thing to do is
And cleaning up the toys in the family room and their bedroom? Well, that was a two-hour job. After gathering all the puzzle pieces and having the kids put them together again, Josh also decided it would be fun to
He also got a kick out of the fact that when I finally got their room clean an hour later (it was absolutely horrific, I tell you) and I put him in timeout, he locked himself in and destroyed everything I just cleaned while I begged from the other side of the door for him to unlock it. (After that episode, I
And perhaps the most horrifying of all is that I have an almost-six-month-old who is the most high-maintenance individual I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. And people, I promise I'm not over-exaggerating this one. I am literally at my wit's end. If there is anyone out there who has a baby like this, any pointers will be helpful!
The constant soundtrack to my day (unless I am holding him) is a high-pitched scream that makes my head hurt. He cries ALL. THE. TIME. And I don't know why. I love the baby to death--really. He is so cute and fun and when I'm holding him, he is pleasant and happy and oh-so-kissable.
But I put him down and it's like I'm dealing with a starving, neglected, raging demon. (Those of you who are judging me for my word choice, come to my house for an hour and you will share the same opinion, I promise you.)
There is something about that screaming that not only hurts my head, but makes me grumpy, on edge, and triples the stress in the air. It makes me not want to do anything during the day (which is why I procrastinate in the first place) because listening to that in the background is torture. It's in the background to everything I do. EVERYTHING.
Doing the dishes: screaming. Sweeping/mopping the floor: screaming. Bathing the two older boys: screaming (and of course the crying from my older kids because they hate water). Giving my older kids lunch: screaming. Disciplining my older kids: screaming. Dealing with an unruly, whiny child: screaming. Trying to unlock the children's door while pleading and nearly crying myself on the other end: screaming.
And it's not just the screaming that's getting to me, but the nursing, too. I've never enjoyed nursing with Luke. Never. And that is really sad to me. He's a miserable nurser. He squirms and fidgets the whole time, not to mention claws. I have scratches and abrasions all over my boobs, ribs, and chest because he doesn't know how to lay calmly when he eats. I have to use one hand to hold the boob in place (it comes out if I don't, thanks to the pulling, the squirming, etc.) and the other to try and keep his hands down.
And part of his behavior is out of habit, I think, since in the first few months of his life he suffered with my over-active letdown problem. But now it's just irritating. And it saddens me to say that I can't wait until he's older, when I'm ready to wean him.
So, you may be asking to yourself, why is she blogging if she has so much to get done?
And the answer is because I want to. Simple as that. I needed a break, the baby is asleep, and it's quiet.
Ah, that quiet.
And I'm tired. I'm tired of a fussy, needy baby, and I just want him to be happy. So there's my venting for the week.
And I just want to add that as I type, I can hear Josh throwing all the toys out of the drawers in his room again. For the third time. After the two hours his mom has spent cleaning it. He is supposed to be asleep.
And I'm just too tired to care now. It's why I don't clean on a usual basis.
Did I mention I'm tired?