I am not one to complain.
For three years I fought fertility issues, and quite frankly, if I were to read something along the lines of what I'm about to write, I would have scowled at my computer screen and given it the finger. And I never give the finger.
Because, in my book, mothers have no right to complain. They had everything I ever wanted - hell, I would have rolled around in a pile of poopy diapers and not slept for a hundred days straight if it meant I could just have a baby.
As the baby blog world rolls, so it seems we all come to some sort of collision or crash and burn when we smash into the toddler stage. Or at least I have. Everyone else seems to be happily blogging along.
And so here am I and my excuse for my blogging hiatus.
I haven't touched my computer or my camera since the Christmas-ish days a couple weeks ago. My baby perfected his walking, so he walks all over me, everything we own in this house and things we didn't even know we had. He points to his mouth, signing that he's hungry every 13 minutes, and yet he refuses to eat any snack/food/meal idea I contrive.
just about lost my mind.
Quite honestly, I'm tired of talking about babies and what they're doing and cheerios and the texture of poopy diapers. I know, quite a statement for a post on a would-be happily puttering along baby blog.
I want to sit on my couch, turn on the TV and indulge in something ridiculously girlie and grown up for three straight hours.
All I've heard since the day we brought Carter home is Don't worry, it'll get easier.
Well, answer me this, mister Getter of Easier - why has everything straight out of nowhere gotten so friggin' complicated and hard?
There are only two things I want for myself and this whole stay at home mom deal during the day - a clean house and a happy baby. I can't have either one.
When I shift my focus to cleaning, my baby clings to my leg, crying and whining. When I concentrate on just feeding and playing with him, the more
grimey unlivable my house becomes. We can't find toothbrushes, wipes, towels, shoes, pants. You name it, it's probably in a pile somewhere or on the kitchen floor. Laundry is clean but never folded. Things are spread everywhere; Carter tears things apart and they land in unrequited territories across the house.
My mom - my hero - is taking care of Carter this weekend. And although I do truly miss him, the pressure weighing on my chest that was holding back my tears has vanished. I can't remember having a freeing feeling like this since the day I finished high school or got my driver's license.