It’s midnight at night and although I should be getting ready for bed, and although my body is utterly exhausted, lying down right now just makes my mind race with even more velocity. So, here I am, plugging away at the laptop while some mundane comedy-drama filmed in the 80’s plays in the background. My mind races. Not only because of my mental “to do” list, but also because this is around the time where I can finally wind down from my day. Again, it’s midnight on a workweek. And I’m the mother of a rambunctious toddler and a needy and extremely dependent one year old whose one and only source of comfort is yours truly.
My day typically starts when my cell phone alarm goes off on the floor of Isabella’s nursery next to her crib at the dark and early hour of 5:30 a.m. Being ever so careful, I strategically swing and contort my body off the air mattress that’s already losing air due to it’s overuse, so as to not make even the slightest sound. If I did, it would surely wake up the baby and then I would have to juggle her while trying to get ready to leave the house. I don’t even shower. Make up doesn’t exist at this time. I have a half-hour to throw my hair in a ponytail, grab my gym bag and work clothes for the day and leave the house by 6:00 a.m. Some days, I just take a shower at work. It’s the only time that I can truly enjoy encasing myself in warm water without having Isabella trying to rip open a shower curtain exposing me to the cool and jolting air. Most times I go to the gym and enjoy their facilities. The times I choose to stay home and try to “sleep in” always ends in a disaster. That is never an option for me.
I make it to my full-time job by 8:30 a.m.. I am supposed to start at 7:30 and it’s a great luxury that I can still get away with coming in an hour late every day. I am thankful for these small blessings. For the next 8 hours, I am tied to a desk, being at the beckon call of a thankless supervisor. A man that puts work above and beyond anything else. Family time is insignificant to him. A man whose favorite quote is “nights and weekends are not sacred in this firm” just doesn’t understand it when you’ve been up all night with a teething infant.
My work day ends at 5:00 p.m. and I make the hour trek to pick up the kids. On the train, as I’m standing, neck straining from the weight of my purse, gym bag and lunch tote, my mind starts to wander as it goes through my “to do” list again, hopefully mentally scratching off anything I can. I wish I could just take this hour to read. But being wedged in between a lady who obviously brings her entire week’s worth of grocery shopping on the train, and the young executive that is taking up two spaces with his briefcase, there’s no way I would have room to dig my magazine out of my bag without annoying a commuter. I start to think about the kids. I secretly pray (sometimes out loud to the surprise and amid wary eyes of other commuters) that tonight will be a good night; Gia, my 3 year old, will be content sitting on the couch watching a movie so I can put Bella to sleep at a decent time with no constant interruptions to climb her crib. I know the chances of this happening is slim to none, but it’s become a favorite fantasy of mine as of late.
After picking up the kids, I start the process of snack time. I do this because Gia has become so picky with her food lately that I have on occasion tracked what she’s eaten in a given day and I still can’t fathom how someone with so much energy can live off a chocolate milk and string cheese for the entire day! Letting the kids play would be an understatement. They run around the house like monkeys hyped up on bananas dipped in Kool Aid powder. It’s always a struggle to get my oldest settled, but when I do, Isabella usually falls asleep so peacefully and easily. One score for mom!
But my night is just beginning. It’s 9:00 p.m. now and Gia is showing absolutely no signs of even the slightest exhaustion. As she bounces from toy to toy, book to book, I plan my time-for-bed strategy of getting her in the bathroom to wash up and brush her teeth. It’s always a game of deal or no deal with her. It’s only when voices are raised and threats are established does she finally listen and comply with what she deems as “unfair deals of a mean mommy”.
It’s now 9:30 and my husband has just walked in the door from work which now makes the job of bedtime that much harder. The presence of dad seems to bring out a new burst of energy. Wonderful. Fantastic. It’s clear I am losing this battle. One score for kids!
Now it’s 11:30 p.m. and the pressure is mounting and tensions are getting more strained as my husband and I just want to retire for the night and be done with our day, but the wakefulness of our three year old is making this impossible. How in the world am I going to get her up at 6:30 a.m. and ready for school by 7:30? We’ve already missed a day of preschool already because she couldn’t get out of bed in time. Is this what I have to look forward to when she hits those teenage years?? And that’s when all sense of “mommy reasoning” went out the window. With some reluctance yet a lot of determination, I make my way to the pharamacy at midnight to buy my first bottle of Children’s Nyquil with the sole intent of not using it for its intended purposes.
Once the thick cherry flavored syrup is administered, it was a short 20 minutes wait before the house was finally silenced….. peaceful…
Mommy lost this war but tomorrow is always a new day.
Even with 3 children, working and ensuring our house runs as it should – just reading this made me exhausted. *phew*
I sit hear with my eyes brimming with tears as I read your story. It’s not very different from mine. It overwhelms me at the thoughts of the sacrafices and struggles we make chosing to be wifes and mothers, that we almost always neglect ourselves, not by choice but by demand. Is this what I expected marriage and motherhood to be, no, not at all, but it is the hand that we were dealt and when I often find myself overwhelmed, overworked, and underpaid, I say, this too shall pass. Its got to get better. As I look back over my life and how at 29 years old, my Mom is still alive and well, and I can be too, 30 years from now. She survived and so can I . . .w/ prayer, lol!!! :O) I truly believe that God knows how much we can bear, as I sometimes sit back and watch Nanny 911 for entertainment and am thankful that my child and prayerfully my soon to be born child are/won’t be like that, because if they were, I don’t know where I’d be. Probably the idea behind a grown-up version of Nanny 911, except it would be the kids calling in on me!! :O)