Diva meetup tomorrow and I couldn’t be happier.
I’m leaving my home on Friday for 3 whole weeks. 3 and a half. Whatever. There is lots to do. More than I can even think of at the moment. Random stuff. I still have to file an appeal with the insurance company. Look over ground plans and pics for the opera so I know wtf I’m talking about at the company meeting on Friday afternoon. I have to call the daycare where my children will be housed, fed and tolerated for 7 working days. I have to call my mom and make sure that she’s fine with all this and that I don’t have to worry that the daycare will call me right at show call telling me to pick up my kids and I’m an hour away across town.
All I really want to do is have a cocktail.
The girls went to bed late tonight. I think they knew that I had other things to do. It took forever for them to settle down. I had to take away the bedtime nursing because I was resenting the fact that Amelia was trying to nurse on her head and was kicking me in the belly button. So no more na-na for her. She cried and cried the saddest cry ever. And all I kept thinking about was how, next Monday, it’s all over. She will have to go 16 hours a day without me.
I resent it when they don’t go to bed like they should and when they should. I don’t have enough hands (or na-nas) to parent 2 children in 2 different rooms when the lights go out. I tried 2 different times to get Amelia to bed before Ella. That’s usually what works best. No such luck. So I resent spending my night trying to get them to sleep. With so much to do.
This is my time. My only time. And now I have to spend it cleaning for company and picking up the toy bomb that clearly went off in my living room. (Can I still say “bomb” on the internet? Bomb, bomb de bomb, bomb.)
There are not enough nutty bars to make my mood better. My house is still a mess. And I guess it will just have to stay that way. I don’t have the time or the inclination to do anything about it. Maybe I can get someone to declare it a federal disaster area. Not that a FEMA trailer would be any better. I’d still have to move all my junk again and we all know how I feel about moving.
I love my babies but I still don’t know how I’m expected to do this all day, every day. All alone. I’m glad that they’re young. I’m glad that they won’t remember any of this but I wish they were a little bit older. I wish they could at least pour their own breakfast or bathe themselves or buckle themselves into the van. Do something. How can I possibly survive this? How am I supposed to come out on the other end? I don’t believe the statement “what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.” I believe “it’s trying to irritate me enough to be angry”. I don’t want to be one of those angry people. People you can never please. People who only see the bad in others, who lack imagination and optimism.
But I feel like I’m a bug getting stepped on. Over and over and over….again.