Breathing

I've been having a stunningly hard time lately. I don't know if I am just less competent than other moms, or if their babies nap longer, or if they have support (family) nearby, or if they have weekly housecleaning, or if they have husbands who are full partners in parenthood.

We have been having some tough times in these parts.

Yesterday Max started at daycare, a blessedly wonderful organic place that makes complete sense, but we only stayed for 2 hrs before heading home. He was too excited to nap there--big kids! an abacus! a piano! 2 kitties!--but fell asleep on the way home, in the stroller. He woke 20 minutes after arriving home, shooting down my dose of daily-albeit-brief downtime. He and I spent much of the day in tears, me more than him. Ugh. I hope I'm not completely f'ing him up.

Today we visited the daycare again, and he was doing so well that I left for half an hour. I went to a nearby cafe and read and caffeinated and ate and wrote and knitted and was annoyed when a cafe writer-guy I knew from my old cafe-dwelling life stopped to chat. He was cutting into my me-time.

When I called to check in, the wonderfully centered daycare woman said things were fine and I could just pick Max up at the usual pickup time, almost 3 hours later.

I nearly died.

I biked home and...and...what did I do? Some chores, but mostly downtime. I know most parents, especially (sorry for sexism) moms don't get much downtime, but around here things seem really off-kilter in that department. So I sat, and I ate a big salad, and I checked email. I read some news, and ate more salad. Basically, I did nothing. It was great.

I ignored the clean/full dishwasher, the sink and counter full of dirty dishes, the towels on the floor, the laundry situation, the dust, the cat puke, the shoes Max threw down the stairs. I didn't pay bills, organize mail, or wash greens. I sat on my ass.

There, now you know.

OK, it lasted about an hour. But that was one sweet hour.

Then I did some stuff, tidied up, ran some errands, and went to get Max. He was happy as a clam.

When we got home, he went to sleep for 2-1/4 hrs. That's when I cleaned up cat puke, moved furniture, discarded old crap, and so on. That was one nonstop naptime for Mommy.

What a great, great day.

I don't think I am lazy for needing some downtime.

I think the few hours each week will keep me sane.

I suspect I'll be able to do some things I really need to do.

And it looks like I may be able to get some freelance work to cover the cost of daycare. But I'm more than happy to use my savings to pay for it. I never wanted to be the selfless, devoted, homemaking wife that my mother was. She was (and is) an incredibly smart, talented woman. She did well as a full-time homemaker, and I had a great childhood, but I know that afer a while it wore on her. For some women, it works. For others, it doesn't. I don't know what the difference is, but I admire those who can do it and be happy.

I read "A Room Of One's Own" when I was 19 and it made me furious...furious that the mere fact of my ovaries rendered me secondary. I've been fighting that since...thus the shock of finding myself home, tending baby, with a surprisingly traditionalist husband. I hear that this feeling of getting knocked sideways is normal, but I need to stop listing soon or else I'll go right over.

Our whole ship needs to change course.