Dear Supermoms,
How do you do it?
Sincerely,
Poopermom
Mm k, so seriously. Prior to having Logan, I couldn't quite comprehend what being a mom would really be like. Don't get me wrong; I love my little man, but having only 24 hours in a day no longer seems, uh, practical? My weekdays over the past two weeks have consisted roughly of the following: wake up at some ungodly hour, yell at Mike about how life is unfair, feed Logan, negotiate if I have time to catch an extra 30 minutes of sleep before Logan needs to be at daycare, realize the answer is no, yell at Mike about how life is unfair, pump the girls, take way too long to prep for daycare, forget to feed Zoe, drop Logan at daycare, blast 90's music in the car and reminisce about being young, start work, stop work because Logan is now sick, take Logan to the pediatrician, meet with doctors about my spaghetti hernia (or lack thereof? ...more on that later), wash laundry that Logan barfed on (one of his sicknesses), clean pump parts, feed Logan, forget to feed Zoe, deny complaining about life when Mike expresses his concern to me, pump the girls, daydream about showering, yell at Mike about how life is unfair, and finally, read two whole words of the book "Life As I Blow It" before passing out.
Mm k, so seriously. Prior to having Logan, I couldn't quite comprehend what being a mom would really be like. Don't get me wrong; I love my little man, but having only 24 hours in a day no longer seems, uh, practical? My weekdays over the past two weeks have consisted roughly of the following: wake up at some ungodly hour, yell at Mike about how life is unfair, feed Logan, negotiate if I have time to catch an extra 30 minutes of sleep before Logan needs to be at daycare, realize the answer is no, yell at Mike about how life is unfair, pump the girls, take way too long to prep for daycare, forget to feed Zoe, drop Logan at daycare, blast 90's music in the car and reminisce about being young, start work, stop work because Logan is now sick, take Logan to the pediatrician, meet with doctors about my spaghetti hernia (or lack thereof? ...more on that later), wash laundry that Logan barfed on (one of his sicknesses), clean pump parts, feed Logan, forget to feed Zoe, deny complaining about life when Mike expresses his concern to me, pump the girls, daydream about showering, yell at Mike about how life is unfair, and finally, read two whole words of the book "Life As I Blow It" before passing out.
I am finding raising a baby, working full-time, managing daycare, and marathon training, all on limited sleep, to be pretty dang challenging. Oh, and I haven't actually started training yet. Good times.
So, what did I do to make myself feel better? I registered for the Philadelphia Marathon on November 23rd. Totally. I figure everything will fall into place as time progresses. Well, at least this is what I am telling myself. Perhaps I should have just eaten a bag of cheetos and a box of bonbons instead.
Here are some suggestions I've been given to make life easier in the interim:
So, what did I do to make myself feel better? I registered for the Philadelphia Marathon on November 23rd. Totally. I figure everything will fall into place as time progresses. Well, at least this is what I am telling myself. Perhaps I should have just eaten a bag of cheetos and a box of bonbons instead.
Here are some suggestions I've been given to make life easier in the interim:
* Don't try to be good at what you do...just be good enough.
Hello, Type Z; my name is Type A.
* Run at 3am.
Hello, Type Z; my name is Type A.
* Run at 3am.
What?
* Just wing it.
I don't even know what that means.
I don't even know what that means.
I envy the women that answer the question "How are you enjoying motherhood?" with "It's great; I love it!", as my current answer is, "This mess is %#*^@^& hard!" I need to find balance; I am determined to find a way to make everything in my life work. That is my promise to myself.
As for the spaghetti hernia, I have now been to two surgeons after being given the diagnosis. The first was a complete, well, err, douchebag. Sorry for the unfortunate word choice, but it really is the only appropriate one. Douchie was ready to have a surgery hay-day on my bell-ay without even really talking to me, so rather, I found another surgeon that totally rocks my running socks. The only conundrum now is that he doesn't think I have a hernia, which I of course translated into, "Go running!" Unfortunately, the pain was still there, so I have two doc appointments set up later this month to hopefully get to the bottom of this. My gut tells me I do not have a hernia...no pun intended. BAHAHA (can I blame sleep deprivation for my cheesiness?).
Okay, did I just write the most depressing blog post ever? Unfortunately, it is time for me to complain to Mike about how life is unfair, so look for a more upbeat post next time.
Poopermom, out.
Poopermom, out.
