What To Do.

Lately, while nursing the baby (ENDLESSLY) I've been reading Captain Awkward and, aside from giving me a Serious Complex about my parenting (am I that toxic parent? will this be my children in twenty years?  then I stopped reading it) it's reinforced to me: boundaries and choices are about limits and acceptable consequences.

So I keep thinking of things to write about and then realizing I need to be honest with myself and then I will no longer have Questions other than, am I actually willing to do X?  (Probably not.)

How do I respond to my crazy sister's crazy message "I haven't been stabbed!  I don't know if you were worrying!"?  (Don't respond.  You can only think of snarky or too-honest things like "YOU DON'T SAY" and "You're an idiot, don't talk to me until you grow up some OH WAIT you weren't talking to me anyways.")

Why am I depressed?  (Pain.  Fatigue due to not being able to sleep due to pain.  Loneliness due to no energy to do stuff due to pain.  Plus a screaming, horrible four year old who deliberately wets his pants. Next stops: ENT, then M&M bribes.)

Why am I not losing the last of the baby weight?  (Chocolate plus the previous.)

Am I a terrible parent?  (Sometimes.  Sometimes every parent is a terrible parent.)

Am I mediocre at every single thing I do?  (Quite possibly.  There's room for improvement.)

Is my job meaningful at all, or am I babysitting college students?  (Yes.)

Will Bug ever stop whining about his homework?  (Probably not.  My response, by the way, is to tell him that his homework is his problem and if he doesn't want to do it he can write a note to his teacher, but I won't force him.  Because I WON'T.

Would 10% more disposable income allow me to buy my way out of  some things?  (YES.  ALL THE YES.)

Will this all get better some day?  (Some day.)

In Which I Am Filled With Complicated Feelings

This year, I sent a holiday card to my old friend P.  Being a courteous person - we haven't really been in touch these last three years - he sent back an email: moved to the Big City, still working as big-business lawyer, dogs, looking for a house, newly engaged to be married, all is lovely and well.

I don't know if the friendship will stay alive, although I'd like it to, because I don't even know what to say.  "I'm still nursing, we renovated the entire house but it's a wreck because we have kids, and I have no idea where I'll be living in a year"?  "What on earth do you do all day?"  (This question could go both ways.)

And yet, we've stayed in touch through living on different continents, doing widely varied things, living totally different lives.  Why is it different now?

Because I'm a housewife, and I feel that my work all day is both desultory and insignificant.  I wander around with the kids, I try to entertain one while the other naps, and I make dinner.  Occasionally there is applesauce. We live like we're broke, so that we can be financially responsible. (Being an adult is no fun.)  Tatoe's deeply inconvenient morning nap prevents me from ever going anywhere. Yes, it will eventually change, but it's been eight months of this now.  Plus, it's winter, so I'm depressed and stuck indoors.  (It is very cold here and Tatoe is still wee.)


It makes me so sad to feel like I've already lost the substance of this friendship.  It makes me even sadder to wonder where the substance of my life went.

(Into the children, no doubt.)

More Navel-Gazing Housewifery Angst

Several people pointed out that the Groundhog Day housewifery will eventually evolve.  This is true!  (Also an argument against spawning again.  We would have to do the whole thing again.)  It still feels like forever, right now.

I've been thinking (this is what I do while nursing) and really, I feel like I am just barely treading water, and also failing to get better in any way.  I'm not a better sewer or cook than I was two years ago.*  I'm definitely a better knitter, and a slightly better gardener.  I'm apparently still a kick-ass editor.** 

I am limited by material constraints. For example, a truckload of aged horse manure and a tiller would be favorite in March.  However, I have a Honda Civic, a plastic bin of Next City Over's compost, and a shovel.  Some things, I can't improve without more resources.

I've also devoted a lot of time and energy to living frugally.  Maybe that's what I've gotten better at.  If only it weren't so grinding and depressing.  Still, we're doing well: our income exceeds 200% FPL by precisely $107, but we still make extra mortgage payments, have college funds for the kids, and keep everyone shod, fed, and clothed.  However, it takes time to mend the clothing, wash the diapers, make the curtains, bake the bread, get the cheapest-on-sale wipes, and so on. 

The most annoying thing about having small children, of course, is the inability to do anything except in ten-minute intervals.  Please, someone, tell me that I will regain my ability to focus.  One day.  One of these years.

I don't want to not have children.  I don't want to not be a housewife.  But that doesn't actually make this any easier.  

* When I quit my job.

** Dr. S submitted a Big Fancy NIH Proposal and it was rejected ("You are too old and you are screwed"), but all four reviewers commented on how well-organized and clearly written it was.

Dear Toddler,

There is a relationship between how much you scream and how much I don't give a toss.  It is not linear.  It is exponential.

Sincerely yours,

Your Loving Mama