Confessions

Apparently I am never satisfied.

Lately, I've been having the thought that I would rather go back to work than be a stay-at-home mom.  Ethan's a great baby, but he requires so much time, attention, and energy amd I'm having a hard time keeping up with him and being happy at the same time.  I thought that I was feeling down because Josh was gone, but it turns out that the overarching bummed out feeling didn't disappear with his return.  I've been depressed.

I was thinking about all this, trying to place my finger on exactly why and how I could feel so down when, while I was a working woman, I always believed I'd be happier as a mommy.   Having yet again not found my "thing," I only felt more disappointed in myself and in my life as a whole.  I have all the Christianese answers to the big question, but in specificity, don't know why I am here or what I'm supposed to be doing.

I took all these issues with me to church this Easter Sunday, wondering, hoping that at the very least, I'd leave with a bit more joy.  (It's an extra terrible feeling to approach Easter without appropriate amounts of joy.)  Like every other Sunday, Ethan and I vacated the sanctuary and headed for the nursing mom's room just before the sermon.  As our congregation has recently had a baby boom, I was joined by four other mommy friends and their wee ones.  As I looked around the room at Hannah doing tummy time, Rachel sleeping, Raechel being rocked, and Abbey flipping through a book while all of their moms smiled at their baby's little accomplishments, my heart skipped a beat. 

I realized at that moment what was missing.  In actuality, I *do* love being a stay-at-home mom. The problem isn't my job, it's my environment.  Even though I know how to be by myself, it doesn't mean I should be.  As I sat in that small room watching my friends being great mothers, I couldn't help but imagine us in the days that Jesus walked the earth, when women didn't raise children in isolation... when it would be normal and expected to eat, sleep, and live in extremely close proximity with extended family and friends.   

As an only child who's also a homebody, it was an interesting discovery:  The problem is our society. I need community. 

Adjusting

Josh has been home just shy of two weeks now and needless to say, Life. Is. Good.  The adjusting wasn't anywhere as harrowing as I'd envisioned, but it also wasn't as easy as our previous reunions.  Oddly enough, it seems that the Army's re-integration training hurt us more than it helped.  I hoped that Josh would jump right in with Ethan, but he didn't.  He just sat back and let me keep doing everything.  I got a little confused and frustrated, and since my husband has spidey senses, I know he picked up on it.  It didn't help my mood that over the course of single parenting for just a few months, I'd begun to view Josh more as a best friend and partner and less as a lover.  I really wanted to get the lovey dovey feelings back, but it seemed as though the Mommy, nurturing portion of my brain had absorbed every ounce of lusty love for Josh.   

Anyway, on the third day that Josh was here, I was dealing with Ethan, trying to cook dinner, and get laundry out of the dryer.  I must have looked at Josh, who was sitting at the computer, with some sort of evilness because he said, "You feel like I'm intruding in your life."  What?  I assured him that wasn't the case and kept going about with my chores.  About 10 minutes later and feeling a bit frazzled, I looked at Josh and said with who knows how much frustration in my voice, "Feel free to jump in here anytime."  He took Ethan, and that was that.

Later that night, I asked him about the intruding comment.  He told me that during the reintegration training, he was told not to jump into our lives.  He was told that his family had a routine and to sit back and introduce himself very slowly into it, to not disrupt the balance.  While that might be good advice for a family with 3 school-age kids who are all involved in sports, music, or other after-school activities, that was terrible advice for our current situation.

Anyhow, after we got all that out of the air and Josh felt allowed to be a Daddy, things have been good. I got the flu, but thankfully Josh had some time away from the office to help me out and take care of Ethan.  Once I felt better, jmy mom came into town and babysat Ethan so we could go on an alone date.  It was so refreshing to put on cute clothes and dangly earrings without the risk of being spit up on or having my earlobes ripped apart by tiny hands.  I forced myself to not talk about Ethan or baby things, and we had a really great time going out to dinner and a movie.  I felt like the old us, and by the end of the night, my stomach was full of butterflies again. 

Bye Bye Deployment #2

Josh is 3 hours away, and my heart is having some serious palpitations.  I don't know if the fluttering and beat-skipping is from the exhaustion of cleaning a house from top to bottom, taking care of a babe, and doing 5 loads of laundry in one day or if it's from excitement.  Probably a nice mix of both.

I've been so blessed to have my mom visiting this past week.  I've had a really busy week and having a live in babysitter has been a lifesaver.  Sometimes it's just nice not to have to tote a 3 month old around with you everywhere you go.  She just left 30 minutes ago, so I have a wee bit of time to just sit down and relax before my world gets turned upside down again.

I always get so nervous before Josh comes home.  I know it's silly, but I can't help but be afraid of the unknown.  When Josh deploys for an entire year, I have to create a new life for myself. Although that life isn't half as fun, happy, fulfilling or exciting as the life I have with my husband, it's still my life.  My boring little routine is what I know, and I've found comfort in it for a year. 

But it's more complicated than that this time.

Ethan makes it a little bit more nerve-wracking somehow.  I've heard so many horror stories about trying to introduce Daddy back into family life, and I want to be better.  I don't want to actively love my son louder than I love my husband, but after having a tiny baby demand everything of me, I have a hard time comprehending how I'll have the time and energy to be an amazing wife, too.  I know deep down that Josh will immediately jump in, be a wonderful father, and free up some of my time to allow me to be the great wife he deserves... but since it's not a reality we've ever lived, I have an extremely hard time picturing it.  My mind immediately conjures up much more depressing images.  Me locked in the bathroom crying.  Or me feeding Ethan, loving him, playing with him, changing him, bathing him, rocking him, putting him to bed without Josh's help.  Or worse yet, Josh trying to help, but me telling him he's doing everything "wrong," so feeling pushed out, turns to video games, golf, or nights out with friends. 

It's just scary.  I *know* we'll be fine, and in a few hours, I'll be happier than I've been in a year... but right now, I'm nervous.

Doubt

Last night I had a bit of a meltdown. My mom went home Sunday, and I was left with a cranky little baby who expected to be held all day, even through his naps.  It was so frustrating because Ethan has always been a great daytime sleeper.  I could put him in his crib good and drowsy, and off he'd go.  I wasn't sure how to go about fixing this new problem, and it didn't help that in all the books I read and articles I dug up online, I only got conflicting advice. 

Let him cry it out.
Don't by any means let him cry it out. 
Respond immediately. 
Wait 15 minutes.
Wait 45. 
Waiting will cause your child to be afraid of the world. 

Ugh.  What's a mom to do?! The nail in the coffin, though, was reading that by this age, my baby should be able to be laid down completely wide awake and fall asleep on his own, with a few fusses but no true wailing... something Ethan's never done. 

As I was listening to him fuss it out (which turned into screaming and sobbing) I suddenly felt like the worst mother in the world.  I couldn't shake the thought that if anyone else was taking care of Ethan, he would be a much happier baby than he is with me.  I truly believed that someone else would be able to just look at him and know what to do, while I stood there in tears, confused and hopeless.

I prayed for wisdom, for some divine inspiration about what I was doing so wrong, or for a manual on Ethan Care to drop from the sky.  Of course that didn't happen, but in the dark quiet as my son finally started to drop off to sleep, something else was whispered into my heart: 

Yes.  Other people may figure out what he needs faster and with more precision than you.  But God didn't give him to anyone else.  He gave him to you.  And He gave him to you knowing that right now, you'd be alone to raise him. 

Amazing.
So, onward I go.  I haven't done everything right and I'll continue to stumble my way through this parenting thing, but that's okay.  God orchestrates my life, and since this is where His hands have led me, it must be okay.  God loves me, I love my son, and that's going to have to be enough.

Postpartum Farting

Oh the things no one warns you about!!!

I can't stop farting since I had Ethan. It's loud and stinky and pretty much non-stop. I can't walk down the aisles of the grocery store without passing gas with several steps. I definitely can't lift Ethan in his car seat without sounding like a human motor boat.  I'm not really sure, but I'm guessing it's because all my muscles down there got so stretched out during the birth.

I laugh when I'm by myself because my noise-making is so utterly ridiculous, but I'm really afraid that sometime soon I'm going to find myself in a very embarrassing situation. I guess I better do some extra kegels, and in the meantime keep the babe glued to my hip so I can blame the excessively loud flatulence on him!

A World of Firsts

Ethan never ceases to amaze me, and the past couple weeks have been no exception.  My little man has started sticking his fists in his mouth and sucking on them, he delights in looking at his toys, and tonight he discovered his laugh. 

Earlier this morning, Ethan was sitting propped up on his Boppy.  He dropped his pacifier, looked at me, and said, "Uuuuuh!" which I took to mean, "Hey lady, give me my paci!"  It was his first real non-cry vocalization, and I was excited.  He absolutely loves to sit and stare at anyone's face, and in his studiousness, he hasn't been a noise-maker.  I was starting to get the impression that he probably wouldn't say anything until he could form a full sentence. 

Then tonight my mom, who has been visiting since Thursday, was talking to him about the Olympics.  She asked him if he was going to do the bobsled.  He grinned real big and let out the cutest little giggle... then did it 2 more times just to prove that yes, indeed, he was laughing!

Another thing Ethan loves is bathtime.  He's never once cried, but now he's truly enjoying it.  He smiles, arches his back, and kicks his legs so vigorously that water splashes over the sides of his tub and sometimes the droplets fly over his head.  After getting myself soaked a couple nights in a row, we've moved from being propped over the kitchen sink to putting his Whale-of-a-Tub in our big tub.  It's much better and I can really encourage his flailing around.

It's moments like these that make me absolutely love being a mommy.  I can't wait for Josh to come home in a month and enjoy them with me!  I just wonder what  my big boy will be doing by then!

Great Expectations

When I was pregnant, I had such high hopes for my upcoming stay-at-home mom days.  I always thought that because I've never felt any pull towards a vocation that maybe God was simply calling me to be a wife and mommy.  I imagined that I would be the perfect little homemaker, that I would quickly settle into a pleasant routine with time to be not only a good mother, but also a good wife.  I knew I'd have over two months to myself to get my life with a baby under control and that by the time Josh got back from Kuwait, I'd be a 20th century June Cleaver, pearls and all.  It all seemed so perfect in my head, and I was so, SO excited that finally my time to shine was coming. 

Oh, if only.

When it comes to my family, first and foremost, I want to be a wife that Josh can be proud of.  I want to earn the privelege to stay at home by making sure that every day the bed is made, that there are clean socks to wear, and that Josh comes home to a showered and affectionate woman, happy children, and a hot meal on the table.  I want to be a blessing in this house, and I want this to be a place he is always excited to return to.

As it is, I can hardly get a chance to open the mail every day, let alone regularly clean the house or manage to eat dinner before 8 pm.  My dog howls because he's not getting enough attention, and my baby's cries so much in the early evenings for no apparent reason that last night, I wanted to lay face down in the snow in utter defeat.   I feel like a complete failure when I think about how grand my original plans were.  I honestly thought that this was my "calling" and it'd all come to me naturally and that it wouldn't seem so impossible.  But it does seem impossible, and I'm feeling really disappointed in myself.

I've got one more month to pull it together... and no earthly idea how I'm going to get there.