When I was just a youngster, I was pretty nuts. Well, maybe I'm still pretty nuts, but have just learned how to contain it better. I can accept that. Either way, when I say "youngster," I mean teenager (and partial early twenties in all fairness). I was a fairly normal, mild mannered child- if anything, nerd city- but as the years went by I became very angry. Cliche typical teenage wasteland b.s.- the angst and rebellion. The woe is me self-medication. The bitter turmoil and "Why is life so unfair?" existence that is the American teenager.
I mastered the art of wallowing in the crazy- really milking it for all that it was worth. I relished in my crazy and wore my loose cannon tendencies like a badge. Because it was easier than dealing with the unpleasant mess hiding under the surface. But, like so many of us do- I eventually grew out of that. Drama is so energy sucking and unproductive. Life doesn't get easier- just more manageable, especially once you realize that you have the power and ability to control your own situations. You either choose to be miserable or you choose to be happy. Or you choose to hover around in limbo, unsure if you are happy or not- but ultimately, even from there, you can choose to be bored in limbo, or move on to something more exciting and fulfilling and interesting. If you aren't satisfied with your current situation, put your big girl panties on, deal with it, and move onto something that satisfies you.
All of this sounds so simple- and honestly it is...until you have children.
Children can drive you to a whole new level of crazy. A manageable crazy, but still crazy. It seems like as soon as I got a handle on this "having my shit together" thing, I had a baby. Now two babies. And in the wee hours of the morning, when the tiny person I am responsible for won't let me sleep- it's difficult not to lose my shit. You can't choose to move onto a more satisfying, restful situation when you have babies- no matter how much you've mastered your little personal universe- because even the most doting husbands by day are all but worthless in the middle of the night- particularly if you are nursing. All you can do is choose to be miserable in your sleep-deprived delirium or be happy in it... and being miserable in this situation is waaaaay easier. I personally have to fight the inner crazy chick in my head who wants to lose her cool and cry and freak out sometimes because I just. Want. TO. SLEEEEEP!!!!!
I have my good nights. I have my not so good nights (I'd say bad, but they're never really BAD. Just not so good). Last night was a not so good night. The delirium that comes with sleep deprivation goes in waves... sometimes you accept that you are sleep deprived, sometimes you fight it and resist the inevitable.
Baby Viv turns 4 months next Monday and she isn't anywhere close to sleeping through the night. She started sleeping almost 8 hours at a time for awhile, but has since reverted back to waking up every 2 to 3 hours. We're going backwards and it SUCKS.
Jude was sleeping through the night at 2 months old. I guess I got spoiled and naively believed that both kids would grant me such luxury. I'm learning with kids you can't compare apples to oranges, but you can't really help it. You go by what you know. And all I know is that Jude was sleeping through the night by 2 months. He also woke up pissed off every morning until he was 2 years old... and still wakes up pissed off from time to time. I'm talking PISSED off. We used to call him "Mr. Shitty Morning" because he was so miserable. For no real reason besides the fact that he's not a morning person. This can either be a cute personality quirk or irritating and unbearable to the Nth degree- it depends on what kind of day I'm having.
I thought I escaped Mr. Shitty Morning when I moved out of my parent's house and away from my Mr. Shitty Morning father.
Nope. Isn't irony a bitch?
In exchange for Next Generation Mr. Shitty Morning, I now have Miss Party Girl Up All Night. Miss Hold Me All the Time or I'll Flip Out. Miss Give Me a Booby or I'll Attack Your Face and Give Your Chin a Hickey.
The good news is, Baby Viv wakes up happy. I would too if I got to snack all night long. I get and read advice about training baby not to wake up snacking in the middle of the night. To break that habit- and this advice from people getting restful night's sleep makes me want to punch their lights out. The last thing I need is for Viv's baby screech owl noises to wake up junior in the adjoining bedroom. So snack in the night she will and sleep with me in our bed by sunrise she shall. With the first baby I was more regimented and stringent... because I could be. With this baby, whatever goes that will keep her quiet and happy and not waking up first baby.
At my baby shower for Jude, all the seasoned mommies filled out little advice cards (which I kept of course). One that resonated in me the most said to enjoy the middle of the night feedings when it's just me and the baby alone, while everyone else is asleep, because that time is so short and sweet and will be over and gone before I know it. I didn't follow that advice enough with Jude- at least I don't think I did. He got older and bigger so quickly that I don't know what the hell happened to my infant boy. I look at him and how rapidly he's growing and I want to cling to baby Viv because I know she's next. With Jude I feel like I was constantly trying to get him to sleep because he's always fought sleep (still does) so I could put him down. Now I don't want to put Viv down because I feel like I need to savor every little mili-second I have with her in my arms, needing me and taking comfort in me like she does now.
I find myself second guessing whether or not I held Jude enough or cradled him enough while he slept... I'm learning that no matter how confident you are as a woman, as a mother, you will constantly second guess how good of a mother you are and if you are doing enough, good enough, enough enough...
Seconds babies are a game changer. With Jude I think I clung to a lifestyle that included blissful nights of 8+ hours of sleep. Now I know that ship has sailed and to just ride this out... even if it does make me feel crazy drunk/hangover like tired all day.
New shoes make me happy. I'm the only girl I know without an actual shoe fetish, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate a pair of new ones. I am especially happy now that my feet aren't swollen from pregnancy and they are back to their normal skinny banana boat shape and size, so they no longer look like bread loaves stuffed into pans in shoes like these. Yay!
Husband went out and got himself a fancy pants coffee maker. I say himself, but I guess I should say US. Right now it's more for him though, because he gets to drink the real thing and I don't consider decaf coffee actual coffee. But alas, I pump myself full of decaf coffee in the mornings now, trying trick my brain into a mental shake down, hoping that the mere routine of brewing and doctoring a cup of coffee will have some sort of energizing effect on my energy level. No such luck, but I have come to enjoy the taste of it, even though it's pretty much worthless. I was hesitant about this coffee maker because it uses these little plastic coffee pods for individual cups- it seems wasteful and unnecessary (and borderline capable of taking away a couple of Taylor's man points since it's so uppity. I worked in a tobacco and coffee shop once upon a time and guys who got froo froo coffee drinks were never short of merciless teasing once they left the shop)- BUT, Taylor works hard with his nose to the grind every day, so if a fancy pants coffee maker brings a little slice of sunshine into his day, I won't tease him for it.
Considering revamping my closet. Since getting addicted to Pinterest, I've come to reevaluate my clothing and my organizational skills. I've been inspired! Plus, now that I can fit into my clothes (for the most part), I want to make my closet space more exciting. While pregnant, I went on a rampage and dug out a ton of stuff to make room for future new threads that I planned on collecting in celebration of getting my figure back. Amidst being annoyed at my smaller sized clothes, I sold and donated some stuff that I'm realizing now I should've kept (damn). They say not to go to the grocery store when you are hungry. I say don't go through your closet and get rid of your normal sized clothes when you are pregnant.
This space could actually be used for more clothes since there is a rack above it. I can't bring myself to tear down my little accessory shrine though. The funny thing is, I don't really wear much jewelry anymore- but I still like my stuff and wear pieces on the rare occasions that I go out. Over the years, after you get married and have kids, your personal girlie space evolves and has to fuse with your husband's taste and stuff. Guys get man caves (if they want them) but what do we get? The whole house I guess, but for me, my cave is my closet. It's a little space packed with my stuff, decorated and arranged in the way that I've always done with my nick nacks and things since I was little. Maybe it's an identity thing, I don't know. I do know, however, that it feels good to be in there and feel like "classic me," if that makes any sense at all.
I want to organize my shoes but I'm not sure how to go about doing this. My beloved boot collection is in particularly bad shape, with them all stuff into a corner back there by my shoe rack. I feel like I need more grown up ladies shoes, but I am terrible in heels and have no real grown up places to go these days. The only heels I have are the ones I've collected over the years specifically for Vegas trips- since Vegas is the only place you'll ever really see me in them, and I have to go buy new ones each time since the ones worn from each previous trip get so trashed and demolished from all night club hopping, drinking and belligerent shennanigans (that's how we do it in Vegas!).
My closet's mascot. Yes, this is a monster eating a bowl of rice with chopsticks. A funny coworker gave it to me awhile back and I love it. It makes me smile every time I go in my closet. Now it also reminds me of how much I miss a big bowl of white rice.
~sigh~
I keep a "piggy" bank. It's stuffed with funds that are just for me. No groceries. No toys or clothes for the kids. No bills. Just for me. I believe this is a must for moms.
Miss Party Girl Up All Night
Miss Hold Me All the Time or I'll Flip Out
Miss Cutie Patootie Pie that I can't get enough of, despite today's complaining rant.
