About This Morning

I do my best to take the beasties' antics in stride and laugh about them instead of cry into a pillow, but this morning. Oh, this morning. 

Bobby's sleep regression is FINALLY getting better, but now we are in this phase where he wakes up at 5:45am shrieking. I would normally let him cry it out in there, but that backfired the other morning when he woke Vivi up, too. The only thing worse than one pissed off toddler is two pissed off toddlers. So I've been trying to nip the ass-crack-of-dawn wake-ups in the bud by going in his room at the first hint of a scream. I'm just in survival mode right now. Usually he will calm down and go back to sleep if I lie on the floor by his bed. So I did that this morning. Except he wanted to listen to Led Zeppelin on his record player, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. Now don't get me wrong, I'm glad that my child appreciates Classic Rock and the Best Band There Ever Was, but I'm not usually keen on rocking out before the sun has risen. I figured letting him listen to it was the lesser of two evils, though, so I turned on "Rain Song" for a bit, and he calmed down and went back to sleep. Go figure. 

Except I couldn't go back to sleep because I had to pee. So I tried to quietly sneak out of his room and return to my room, but the beast caught me in action. More tears. Rinse and repeat. 

I finally found myself being awakened by a toddler with an unsavory diaper sitting in my face, ripping off my eyemask, shrieking, "Mama! Mama!" He had somehow gotten MacGyvered himself out of his baby gate and had gotten into Vivi's crib with her and awakened her. So now she was screaming in her crib, and I had beastie butt all over me. I looked at my phone. 7 am. Okay, I'll take it. 

I got them both up, changed them, and we went downstairs for breakfast. As I was preparing breakfast, Bobby opened up the freezer by himself and wouldn't let the frozen sausage go. He needed this frozen sausage so badly that he was literally eating it frozen, and it was a fight for me to even cook it for him. I sat him down, gave him the cooked sausage, and he wouldn't eat it. Because it's disgusting when it's cooked.

I put on my gym clothes and went back down to get them ready for the day. Bobby had a doctor's appointment at 10am, which gave me very little time to get to the gym, work out, get the kids loaded up in the car, and drive to the appointment on time. Doable, but a very tight schedule for the morning. Of course, this is the morning where my kids decide to dawdle and cry over spilled milk (literally), wasting valuable time. Bobby ran from me and dodged my advances to dress him. Then he pooped again. In the meantime, Vivi rammed a can of hairspray in the toilet, rendering it useless. I cleaned that up and had to fight Bobby to get a new diaper and his clothes on. In the meantime, Vivi pooped. I had to clean that up. During all this, I missed Alex's phone call because Bobby was elbow-deep in Vaseline. I called Alex just a few minutes later, and he was in a car full of other guys, so I was unable to have a conversation with him. I got off the phone feeling like tears were going to well up, but I tried to push past. 

I got the kids downstairs, and while I spent seven minutes locating both of their shoes, Bobby decided to stick his hands in the wet paint of the piano I've been refinishing at night (to be fair, it should've been dry), and then proceeded to put green wet painted hand prints all over the living room while I chased him down. I put his shoes on him, and then went to put Vivi's shoes on her. As I was on my knees latching her shoes, Bobby was all over me. Can you not just get off my back sometimes, kid? No, I'm serious. Literally GET OFF MY BACK. I finally got her shoes on her right before I nearly succumbed to my toddler's sleeper-hold.

Both kids were running around and screaming at the top of their lungs. Bobby, because he's a wild boy; Vivi, because she was mad about something that her brother undoubtedly did to her. We got to the gym late, but I decided I would drop them off in the children's room and do some quick cardio. Anything to let off steam. The gym here is great, and the kids love going. Everyday but today. Bobby wouldn't let go of me. He screamed bloody murder, which made every other kid in there scream. I tried to just walk out, but I could hear him down the hall, along with all the other kids. I couldn't leave my children in there screaming. I just don't have the heart for that. So I went back in and dejectedly collected my kids and put them back in the car, where they were happy and smiling. I turned on Thomas the Tank Engine on the dvd player in the backseat, and I sobbed. Except it wasn't into a pillow--it was into my steering wheel. In the middle of the gym parking lot. 

And then I immediately felt guilty for breaking down in front of my children. 

This is not something that I would necessarily share with you on a normal basis; I know it doesn't make me look good. And I promise that 99% of the time, I am a good mama. But today I was not. The diaper rash/sleep regression/clinginess/whining/puking/incessant poops/separation anxiety that I've been dealing with from two toddlers for two weeks has finally come to a head. 

And it occurred to me that I am NOT the only person who has ever done this. I'm not the only woman who is just so tired and worn down that she needs to sob into her steering wheel. I am not the only woman who is weary from limited conversations with her husband. So maybe you can relate to this and can sympathize. Or maybe not. And in that case--Cheers to you, bitch.