OK, Here It Goes

I've been in the slump of my life. Well, not really of my life...there have been countless others. Slumps, that is. Not lives, at least none of which I am consciously aware. But this is a slump of gargantuan proportion and it has been seriously getting in the way of things. I am grumpy and cranky and short-tempered and generally dissatisfied with life. And, of course, riddled with guilt on about four hundred levels. Because I am a mom and that's what I do...exist and try but feel guilty for the levels on which I feel myself failing on a moment to moment basis.

The good news is that I realized today what is at the root of my slump so that I may begin to finally nip it. I am unhappy because I don't have enough juggling going on. I am totally bored here...I mean totally. And because of that boredom and the sense that I am locked in an all-to-real reenactment of Groundhog Day, I am beginning to go a little cuckoo.

A few years ago, I was working: part-time as a development editor, part-time teaching preschool, part-time selling Pampered Chef, and full-time as a mommy of two and wife of one. And then I became a mommy of three, and Lizzy's needs were so unbelievable that all of that "part-time job" time and energy went toward making sure that she was surviving, then maintaining, and finally thriving. I realized a couple of weeks ago that I have stopped obsessively worrying about Lizzy. I look at her and see her the way I saw my first two...a normal kid, who is driving me crazy getting into insane amounts of mischief, just like she is supposed to be doing at this age.

So now what do I do? What am I supposed to do now that her survival needs have taken a nosedive and we are just a normal family of five? I have time to think. I have time to breathe. I have time on my hands.

This is not a good place for me.

I have known for a long time that I am much better when I'm juggling and scheduling and keeping a lot of balls in the air. But this is the first time that I literally have nothing going on outside of the walls of this house. And when I'm here, I cannot take my eyes off of Liz for even a second, because if I do I have a scene like I had this morning: she manages to spring her go-go gadget arms from the shoulder sockets and grab a half-eaten container of blueberry yogurt off of the kitchen table from a place that was considered "out of reach" by normal human standards, knock it to the floor and finger paint with it. So I start to clean that mess up...and while I do, she goes and bathes herself with the dog bowl water. And if she isn't doing that, she's getting stuck between a wall and a piece of furniture, or eating the rocks out of the gas fireplace. My life has become a constant mind-bending siege to babyproof places that I never would've thought I'd have to babyproof. I moved all my furniture up against the walls today and rigged twist-ties into fireplace door locks.

Is this seriously my life?

And because she is "Busy Lizzy," I get nothing done around here. I mean nothing! The beds aren't made. The floors aren't clean. The laundry isn't put away. There's shit EVERYWHERE! And by the time I finally get all three of them to sleep, who the hell has any energy or want to do housework? Not me!

I know..."Stop your bitching! You're home with your kids, who are growing up so fast and this time will be over and you'll be kicking yourself for having wasted time wishing it were different." I can hear you! (And now she's hearing voices...cue the Twilight Zone theme...)

I know it. I really do. But it doesn't change the fact that right here, right now, I am not loving my job. Everyone has days like this, slumps like this, no matter what their job is, so I refuse to feel guilty for my honesty on this point. I just wish I were anywhere but here lately. I wish I had something to do, part-time, that would stimulate my brain and provide me with regular, dependable adult interaction...even if the adults were complete assholes, it would at least be other adults acting like assholes instead of just me and three other people under four-feet tall acting like assholes. They are so sick of me. I am so sick of them. Ugh. Anywhere but here.

But now I'm typing this, knowing that there are a handful of people who will read it, and I'm ashamed to be this honest about these feelings today. Ashamed that others will think me ungrateful and unworthy of what I have here. Maybe I am unworthy. Maybe I'm ungrateful. Maybe I should shut it and start to think about what it would be like if I had no choice in the matter. I am staying home by choice, because our situation is such that I do not have to work. For now. At this moment. For today. And that could end tomorrow for all we know. These economic times are not good, and Pete reminds me every day of just that fact. So instead of dwelling on the monotony (and my hatred for babyproofing) I should start to embrace the beauty and stop squandering my opportunities to leave a lasting positive impression on my daughters. I start every day thinking that I'll do just that. Maybe I should try harder to hold on to that affirmation past breakfast tomorrow and remember that tomorrow is fleeting, as is their childhood and this time that I have been given, for whatever reason, to be here, right now.

Thank heavens I have this blog. I'd really need some seriously expensive therapy without it and its ability to bring me full circle, right back to center.