Where Did it Go? Will I Get it Back?

A few days ago as I was looking through some old thumb drives, I stumbled across a story I had started working on.   Although I knew time was a hot commodity in my life and sitting back to re-read some of my hopeless work wasn’t exactly budgeted, I still found myself ignoring phone calls and emails just to get a glimpse of what I was writing.  And I have to say…I was impressed.  I mean I’m not Dean Koontz or Nelson DeMille, heck I’m not even Stephenie Meyers (which while I’ll admit I read the whole Twilight series, I still don’t think she’s that great of a writer), but I’m good, or I suppose I should say I was good.   So, after reading 25 pages of single spaced type written words that flowed forth from my brain, my heart and my soul, I began to wonder what happened to that aspiring writer?   Then the shatter of glass, also known as my two demonically beautiful children, brought me back to reality…my kids happened to me.

I once started this blog site with a post entitled “My Little Parasite”.   Little did I know then that my children would evolve into more than just the parasitic leeches that sucked me of all my nutrients needed to sustain a healthy pregnancy and lifestyle.   Little did I know back then that they would indeed take more including, but not limited to my sanity, my patience, my energy, my brain cells, and my once toned body (they didn’t take my vanity, by golly!  I still have that!  Take that, you selfish little gems!).

Once upon a time, these slender fingers used to gracefully dance across my laptop.   They felt the flow of energy from my thoughts and emotions as I composed what I thought would become a NY Times Bestseller.   They developed callouses and blisters as I couldn’t stem the ebb and flow of my lifelong dream.   I even managed to maintain that desire, that thrive, that goal to continue on with said dream after having children, well, um, at least after having Davey.   Add an extra child into the mix who’s temperament is exactly like his mother’s (hey, at least I’m willing to admit my flaws) and my desires for writing have vacated as quickly as Hollywood’s one time support of Harvey Weinstein.

My darling little parasites have become more than just needing sustenance to grow and stay alive.  No, these darling little gems have sucked me of my emotions and all of those wonderful thoughts and dreams that used to float around in my heart and mind, and they’ve done it with a vengeance.   Now, hold up!   I know what you’re thinking.   You’re about to jump on that bandwagon of judging moms.   I get it…I’m selfish and I’m emotionally abusive (look at what I’m saying about my children).   Hey, I’m actually ok with that judgment.   I’m exhausted and I’m even sad at times that what once encouraged me, what once was my outlet, what once made me happy, is just one of the many things that my children have taken from me.

So the question is…will I get back that spark or do I just succumb to my children and let them completely devour me and all I have?   Stay tuned…

***on the positive side, at least I’ve written a blog post***




First Week is in the Books!

I often spent many a night before Henry was born wondering how we were going to handle two children in the house. I pondered how difficult it would be with a newborn and even worried about my two year old becoming more rebellious than normal. I imagined everything I possibly could, most of which was bad, before we were discharged from the hospital. As the nurse was transporting me down to the car, my newborn son cradled into my arms, an immense fear seemed to take hold of me and I felt as if a heavy boulder was pushing down on my chest. Where was all of my excitement and bliss about my sweet little baby? Where were all the daydreams about a happy, romantic family ala the days of Norman Rockefeller or the Waltons? All feelings I’d had when my son was first born and placed into my arms quickly dissipated and reality set in. Could I do this? Well, let’s just fill you in on week one…

My husband had to work all week. There wasn’t a grace period of sorts like there was with Davey. He’s been promoted since the days when Davey was born and with that promotion comes much larger responsibilities. If he were in his old job, he would have been home, but if he were in his old job, I wouldn’t be a stay-at-home mom, either. So, Tuesday started out the first official day of being home with Henry and with Davey and it was a piece of cake. Davey had school, so my husband went into work late to take him. My mom and dad came to stay with me and help out with Henry. Piece of cake. Flash forward to that evening when my husband came home from work and informed me that he had to be in Pinehurst, NC for a job all day on Wednesday (a 5 hour drive from our house). As a side note, I hope the project manager for this job gets a bag of poop from Santa. Because of this job, the rest of the week became a catastrophe.

Wednesday morning, my husband took me and Henry to Henry’s first doctor’s appointment and my dad stayed with Davey. Thanks to the C-section and the pain medication, I was unable to drive us. At least the one side perk to this day was that Henry had gained 4 ounces in 2 days! He IS my little porker. After depositing us back at home with my dad, my husband drove back to work, got his rental car and took off east bound and down for NC. He was not to return until 8 o’clock that evening. Thankfully, my mother had arrived in the afternoon and we had a wonderful dinner. Now here’s where the week gets better (insert sarcasm) and once again I blame it on the Pinehurst trip. Did I say that I wanted Santa to leave the project manager a bag of poop? I did? Well, let’s make that a BIG bag of poop.

Thursday morning, my husband walked out the door for work only to find that the rental car he was driving had been broken into. Sigh. So, between entertaining my 2 year old and nursing my 6 day old, I had to call the police, file a report, get my husband back here, have forensics go over the car, contact the rest of the board on our HOA (I’m one of the V.P.’s), get a post on our neighborhood Facebook page, and call a locksmith. I hope this thief gets just as big a bag of poop as the project manager in Pinehurst. And oh, by the way, my parents informed me they could not come over first thing on Friday morning to help because their freezer had gone out and they needed to find a way to salvage a few thousand dollars worth of food. Again…sigh. Surely, Friday would be better!

Friday rolls around and to start the day off on the right note, Henry had started sleeping 4 hour increments at night! Woo hoo! Unfortunately, my husband didn’t get to really enjoy the extra sleep seeing as how he had to be on the road at 4:30 for another day of travel that probably would not end until after 8 o’clock again. It was ok, because I was hitting my stride with a toddler and a newborn. So, just when I thought everything was under control, we lost power. I called the power company while dealing with an antsy toddler and a screaming newborn only to have the lady tell me there was no power outage. I’m sorry!?!? Did we forget to pay our powerbill? Come to find out there was a fire at a local substation. We were without power for 3 hours. And while at first I became frantic, I quickly slid into play mode with my 2 year old while my one week old slept. The other plus side to the day was that at least my husband was able to come home early and we could go to a family Christmas party where I was informed that I didn’t look like I’d just had a baby a week before. SCORE! Insert a HUGE happy smile and even a happy dance.

So, long story short, I survived the first week. Davey is adapting very well to having a little brother. When Henry cries, he says, “Don’t cry, Henry, it be ok.” Every morning he greets Henry with a handshake and a “nice to see you, Henry.” Henry seems to enjoy the Mamaroo which means my hands are free to do a lot more. It may not be as glamorous or romantic as what’s portrayed in Hollywood, but it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever had. Here’s looking forward to the rest of our lives.