I have cried twice today, and it's 9:30 pm. I cried the first time this morning, in the bathroom, where I fled after being kicked in the face by my beloved
Then there was some crying, some pillow-related thuggery, and several wet kisses followed by more crying.
The 5:30 wake-up was quick and painless. The wake-ups at 5:37, 5:52 and 6:14 were also quick, but progressively less painless. Finally, at 6:30 (our chosen end-of-milk-embargo time), I nursed him and dozed on and off for 45 minutes, until he bit me in his sleep.
Did I also mention that the ductal yeast infection (for that is, although I forgot to tell you, what was up with Big Boob Ow) has returned with a zingy vengeance? And that I had terribly painful cramps*? And really had to pee (because I had to drink the rest of that water)? And that it was extremely windy outside, which made our weatherproofing plastic rattle tediously and caused this wind chime** we have to clang repeatedly in between the brief respites from Gitmo Baby?
So you can see where, when during our morning cuddles (where MOTH and I try to keep Tankbaby entertained for as long as possible while remaining as horizontal as possible), Tanky kicked me square in the kisser, I might not be totally faulted for fleeing to the bathroom and weeping into my hands for a few minutes.
I did get a nice, cuddly nap with him later in the day, which is the only reason I've only cried twice today. The second time was while putting away the dishes as MOTH got Tankers ready for bed. I was so tired and physically uncomfortable all morning, and I kept trying to rally, but Goddamn, this parenting and co-parenting and working-parenting thing is so fuccing draining sometimes. I had one thing I wanted to do today and I got half of it done, mainly be being a not-so-hot parent and trying to convince the child I've been away from for 9 hours a day the lat five days that he might rather play with a puzzle or a cracker wrapper or anything not in my lap. And I wanted to see a friend, but we couldn't make it work. And the damn wind kept blowing. And MOTH made a delicious dinner that he and Tank enjoyed but I found vastly unfulfilling (I was skeptical about the collard greens, but tried a bite before sauteing some green beans. The greens weren't all that bad, but I sure didn't like them enough to justify eating the amount of bacon fat they were cooked in. And, turns out, I don't like ribs. I like barbecue sauce, I like pork, but I don't like wrestling fatty tendony meat off of bones with my teeth. Unless I'm at a Renaissance Faire.) (I'm lying, I don't like it there, either.)
Anyway, I kept lapsing into that icky place where you feel petulant and depressed and self-righteous about it, and would hover outside myself and think, "Now, Falling, you don't need to make that face when you're cutting up the greens for the baby. Just eat your beans and shut up about it." And I would, consciously, rise above. For a minute. Then something else would happen and I'd slip again. And get mad at myself, and feel petulant and depressed...and lather, rinse, repeat.
So,when I found a garbage can full of broken glass and learned that while Tankbaby and I were napping--apparently we slept the sleep of the dead--MOTH had accidentally broken one of our set of glass mixing bowls, bowls that were, incidentally a gift from my mom, well, I couldn't restrain the despondent, "SHIT" that came out of my mouth. MOTH apologized, and of course I explained that I wasn't mad at him, but...shit, you know? I like those bowls. They remind me of Mom, they're useful, and...shit.
So while MOTH brushed Tankbaby's teeth and washed his face (overheard over the screaming, "I'm sorry. Next time I'll use the soap without the acid in it."), I put away dishes and scraped off garbage and cried the Feeling Sorry For Myself Rag.
But! Then I curled up with the kid and read some books and learned that my brilliant offspring can--at not-yet-21-months old--identify the colors orange, pink, and yellow. And I had another wedge of the pumpkin bread MOTH made earlier. And got a sweetly giggling, kissy boy to sleep, through the use of another one of my enthralling tales. And now? While MOTH is out for the evening, I'm going to paint my nails in anticipation of tomorrow's wedding, watch some Hulu, eat some more pumpkin bread, and enjoy what seldom-I'd-say-never-but-I'm-trying-not-to-hyperbolize get: a quiet moment to myself.
I wish the same for you all this evening. Especially about the pumpkin bread.
*In addition to some...intestinal issues, I have my period for the first time in 30 months. It's not entirely impossible that this is related to Crying, The.
**The fucking CHIME, man. We've lived here for three years. Every winter, when it gets windy, I talk about how much I hate that thing banging around outside. MOTH balefully informs me, "I think it's soothing." I explain that I believe him, but I find it terribly anxiety-producing and unnerving to have this random bonnngggg outside my front door, especially when I'm up at night. I can't explain why this particular sound undoes me so, but I believe the words I used tonight were, "It makes me feel like I'm in an insane asylum." Finally, as he does periodically, MOTH went out and covered the clapper-thing so that it would be quiet. Which is sweet of him. Not as sweet as just taking the fucking thing down for good, but...