I am weary, laying in my bed, half-asleep but not quite done for the day. The baby will be awake in an hour, or a half hour, or maybe three minutes. Who knows. Big sister was just up again because she had to potty, then a nightmare. Dad is out of town and there is no one to smack in the belly to tell to rock the baby at least once. That typical feeling that it's just me is compounded right now.
Today was hard and I didn't do my best.
I have those seamless days when everything goes off without a hitch. Like Monday, when big sister woke, cheery and bright-eyed. At my request, she ran into her room and picked out an appropriate outfit and put it on. She ate her breakfast without me having to ask her to stop messing with the baby and sit back in her chair. Well, maybe I asked her a couple of times.
I had gotten a few hours of sleep, at least, between feedings. The baby was bubbly and chirpy. The big girl put on her shoes, even tied them and smiled proudly. I dropped her off at preschool. A quick kiss and she entered happily and started playing. I drove away feeling good, no guilt about leaving her, no worries about her missing me and her brother when we were gone.
We got home and I nursed the baby back to sleep. I tidied, threw some dishes in the dishwasher and a load of diapers in the wash. I sat down and wrote something I felt good about. The baby woke, nursed and didn't scream his brains out on the way to get big sis from school. The rest of the day went pretty much the same. Good moods and easy going children. If all days were like this, I'd have three more kids and a dog named Tilly. Or Vinny. Or Buck.
But all days can't be like this. If they were, no one would do yoga or cry and drink wine and write blogs about parenting. There would be nothing to cleanse your soul of, no struggles to relate over, no worries to send out into the world and hope you get something back. Some days you just do what you can do and hope it's enough. Some days are like today.
I'm already awake when it starts because I never really went to sleep. The baby was up all night, and I mean, all night, tossing and turning with a stuffy nose. Every half hour or so, I offered my breast, but he turned away, not hungry, just tired and fighting sleep. I rocked him and tried to sooth him, but the night was still so damn long. The sun rose and that dreaded feeling came over me: How will I make it through this day?
Right away, big sister is being argumentative at best, just downright nasty at worst. She's rough with the baby, too rough to let slide. She's into everything, pulling out every toy, book, game. She doesn't want to get dressed and in a few minutes, I'm down on the floor, shoving books back on the shelf while the baby pulls at my shirt and drools on my shoulder, pleading with her to pick out a sweater. Another 15 minutes of this and I'm angry, but so is she. And she's angrier when I sit down to nurse the baby and she has to eat breakfast alone. She's whining and I'm sad and guilt-ridden and it's not even 8.
Finally, after a lot more redirecting and pleading, we are off to school. The baby wails and turns purple while big sister covers her ears in the car. She doesn't want to go. She wants to stay home. I remind her that mommy has to get some work done today and school will be much more fun for her. I drive away defeated with the baby screaming the whole way home. When we get there, I nurse him and he falls asleep instantly, but wakes when I put him down. I nurse him again, hold him for 15 minutes to make sure he's hit his sleep-cycle. I put him down. He wakes. Finally, I rock him and hold him and just let him sleep on me for an hour while I write emails on my phone, asking editors I'm mildly intimidated by for extensions.
The rest of the day is the same. There are a few good moments mixed in. But overall, I am overwhelmed and exhausted and I know I'm not doing my best. My daughter is talking, talking endlessly and sometimes I go "yeah" or "OK" or pretend to be enthused but really, I didn't even hear her. I don't even know what she asked me and when I realize this, it kills me.
After dinner, baths, snuggles, books, nursing and rocking and more nursing, I pour myself a glass of wine and drink half before dumping the rest back into the bottle when I hear the baby. I will go lay with him and try to get him back to sleep. It's nearly nine. I've had about 15 minutes to myself and I spent them sitting in a chair with my eyes closed, waiting for the next call of duty I knew was moments away.
Even when they are draining me, I can see how lucky I am for this family of mine. But I can't always give them everything. They deserve the best of me. They truly do, but since they have all of me, how can I give them my best always? Some days I can't give it because I don't have it- it's not in me. Some days I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel and going through the motions. Some days "good enough" comes in it's place.
I didn't do my best today. I did all I could and I tell myself, "it's enough" because it has to be. Tomorrow is another day and it will be better, brighter, more rested. Tomorrow, there will be more laughter and no matter what I'll give it all I've got.