Growing Pains

There's something rather malicious about January for me. My oldest and youngest were both born in January, only a week apart. Well, they weren't born a week apart. Their birthdays are a week apart. Six years and a week apart. So every January I get to celebrate my "big baby" and my "forever baby", BAM! BAM!! Just like that.

Which is wonderful but really hard too. It just kills me how time keeps rushing on and these children keep growing. There's no stopping it. My oldest keeps forging into new big kid territory and my youngest leaves all that territory behind never to be tread again. With every milestone Dee makes we joyfully realize all those firsts. With every milestone Cee meets we realize with a painful twinge it will be for the last time.

I don't mean to sound like such a sob. I really do get rather excited, if not a tad giddy, seeing the new stage of life we are in. It's liberating and fun and exciting. But I can't help but mourn the death of our baby stage. No more positive pregnancy tests. No more flutterings in my baby bump. No more birth stories. No more new baby smell. No more first sit-up, first crawl, first steps. No more first birthdays No more second birthdays.

As the mom it's hard not to have an identity crisis. For the past ten years I have been 100% committed to baby-making, -growing, and -nurturing. Now what do I do? What is my new position, responsibilities, frame of mind?

I thought I had been handling the transition fairly gracefully until the other day. Now that my oldest two are getting old enough to be at home by themselves for small amounts of time we are getting a home phone line. We've only had cell phones for most of our marriage and since I believe that children having their own personal cell phones is outlandishly ridiculous we will be providing them with a land line to get in touch with us if we are not at home when they are.

The other day my oldest two came home from school and sat at the table where I was working on a project. Seeing this as an opportunity to present the new home phone as an exciting big kid privilege I opened my mouth to relate the good news.

I only made it through "Now that you guys are getting older..." before crumpling into tears. As I listened to myself it just hit me: They really are getting older! After nine plus years of spending nearly every waking (and sometimes not so "waking") moment with my children they are getting old enough to be left alone. They don't need me for every little thing. They are growing up. How did this happen?

My children just looked at me with confusion. I tried to laugh it off, recompose myself, and launch into my little speech again. "Now that you guys are getting older..." Now I was just laughing and crying at the same time. My son giggled awkwardly while my daughter, in her typical loving fashion, rushed to comfort me, patting my back and brushing my hair away from my face. Which only made me sob harder. Like shaking body sobs. (I'm not proud.)

In an effort to get it all out and move on already I just ended up blurting/yelling, "WHY DO YOU GUYS HAVE TO GET OLDER?! JUST STOP GROWING, OKAY?!" And then I laughed a lot, probably more maniacally than intended, just to lighten up the situation and help my kids understand they weren't truly in trouble for doing something so horrible as growing up.

Poor kids. I wonder at which therapy session they'll bring this scene up...

Finally I was able to compose myself enough to tell them about the new phone and boy are they excited! And yes, for all my psycho-ness, I'm just as excited as they are. Excited at their excitement, excited at meeting yet another "first", and yes, even excited at my own new found freedom.

Ugh. "They" warned me about the contractions and the sleepless nights and the soreness from breastfeeding and the Terrible Twos and all the pain and trials and terrible-ness. But no one ever told me how much it would hurt when all that was over and it was time to move on.

Death by Sleep Deprivation

My birthday is in exactly one month. I've been pondering on how I can use this one special day of the year devoted to me to my advantage. What goodie or favor or item have I been desperately wanting, but denying myself because of the sacrificial nature of being a mom?

It didn't take me long to figure it out.

A nap.

All I want is a stupid nap. Two, maybe three, hours of uninterrupted sleep. No children, no sunlight, no fighting, no phone calls, no requests, no demands, no noise. No nothing.

Just me. My pillow. And the back of my eyelids.

Is that really too much to ask for? Do I really have to wait until April 18th to get what I most want--nay, NEED?! I can't even remember what it feels like to be "well-rested". Isn't sleep one of those unalienable rights or something? Air, water, love, food, SLEEP.

Taking a nap when I'm on single parent duty is just...impossible. But even when Joe's around...it's still somehow impossible. My mom sense never shuts off. I am on high alert all the time. Not by choice. I try to set it on auto-pilot as I prop my children in front of the TV, make my way to my bedroom, shut my eyes, and just chill out. Willing myself to sleep. Just struggling to relax enough to drift into unconsciousness.

Most of the time it doesn't happen. And then on the rare occasion it does...Well, you can imagine what happens. Someone gets hungry or hurt or bored and comes looking for mom. Even if Dad is sitting right there! Or more usually, laying on the couch beside the children, sleeping peacefully, absolutely unaware of the world. Eventually I just give up, get up, and try not to be worked up about it.

Night time isn't any better. In fact, it's worse. We don't have a newborn in the house. Heck! We don't even have a baby anymore! Yet a full night of rest has never seemed further from my clutches.

Every night plays out the same.

Around 11 pm, the six year old begins wandering around the house in a sleep-dazed stupor, not awake enough to make any audible sense, yet not asleep enough to be immobile.

After taking her to the bathroom and leading her back to bed, we make our way to bed. When my husband is around, he can fall asleep in 0.003 seconds flat. You think I exaggerate. No. I've actually timed it before. He can barely get the words "good night" out before the snoring begins.

And oh, good grief, the snoring.

There is this movie from the 1980s called "War of the Roses". I only saw one scene when I was a teenager. A feuding husband and wife are laying in bed. The man is snoring, the woman is glaring at him with murder in her eyes. Suddenly, she crams her fingers up his nostrils in a last ditch attempt to make the snoring stop.

I can't help but think of that scene so vividly every single night as I listen to my husband snoring.

Must...control...fingers...

Eventually, I'm able to fall asleep, in spite of the ear- and nerve-shattering reverberation.

And just as soon as I've settled into a good sleep pattern, the two year old stirs. Not enough to be truly awake. Just enough to truly wake me up. I lay in bed and listen as she squirms and moans, settling back into a peaceful slumber.

And again I'm left to myself. And the snoring.

Finally, I prod and will myself back to sleep. And then the six year old wanders in shivering with terror from nighttime anxiety. It is no easy feat to calm her down. It can take hours.

By then, I'm out of patience, if not just out of my mind with exhaustion. And I am not a good mom at this unearthly hour. I say and do stupid things in a last ditch effort to just get some bloody sleep. Last night's gem: "If you don't stop crying right now and go to sleep, I will make you sleep in the basement all by yourself. I'm totally serious!" (And I'm totally not.)  Stupid.

This goes on all night. The snoring husband, the restless toddler, the four year old with the occasional bed wetting accident, the anxiety ridden six year old. And just when it all winds down...It is nearly 5 am and the early bird eight year old springs out of bed, ready to take on the day, convinced everyone else is as eager to do the same.

Those teen pregnancy PSA ads should say this: "Sex lasts a moment. Sleep deprivation lasts your whole life."

If only I'd known. If only I had known.

Three for Thursday: Having Kids is Like being Pecked to Death by Ducks

It's been another long week. Any week that Joe is gone and I'm single-momming it is long. My patience has been shorter than the fingernails my son nibbles on incessantly. I'm afraid Fun Mommy was killed, stuffed, and mounted on the wall by Angry Mommy. Therefore...my Three for Thursday is not the most fuzzy, warm, positive post. In fact, it's more of a mommy rant. Ahh. Such is life.

Three things I used to like before I had kids:
1. animals
2. long drives
3. swimming

Three things I like now that I have kids:
1. Halloween
2. short haircuts
3. bedtime

Three things I gave up when I gave birth:
1. the ability to be on time
2. Crockpot Cream Cheese Chicken (gag)
3. TV

Three things I can't get under control no matter how much I try:
1. the neatness of my craft area
2. my girls' drawers (It never fails. Dirty clothes in the dresser. Clean clothes on the floor. EVERY SINGLE BLOODY DAY!)
3. my insomnia

Three things I don't understand:
1. things that end in -ics: politics, economics, statistics, quantum physics, psychics, bulimics, lunatics
2. Firefly (what's the big deal?)
3. my third child

Three pictures:

I was about ready to auction this kid off the to the highest bidder. And now look at her...Geez. I love being a mom.

Did I ever mention that we had our first Tamalada (tamale making party)? And that it was muy fantastico! Not to mention muy delicioso!

My parents have new neighbors. And their little boy (can you spot him?) likes to come hang out with all the kids when we gather at my parents' house. Somehow he's ended up in almost every picture of the kids that we take during holidays and special occasions. May the red headed step child jokes ensue. 

P.S. Remember my Super Mario Party Pack Giveaway! It ends Monday at midnight!