6:01 a.m. Other breast.
6:52 a.m. Jaden up.
7:00 a.m. Josh up. Hazel waving feet in the air and farting.
8:20 a.m. Breakfast done. Already feel overwhelmed. Dad took my car to get inspected today so I won’t be able to make Hazel’s well-baby appointment this morning. I forgot she about it when I told Dad he could take the car and now I’m so glad. I really didn’t want to go.
9:45 a.m. Ruby is at school, Jaden is with my Mom, and Hazel is fighting her morning nap so I’ve got her in the sling. Start a fire, some lunch, get dinner out of the freezer, feeling like it’s a rather dull day to record. Jaden got invited to his first birthday party. “I hope they have cake there,” he says.
9:52 a.m. Hazel falls asleep in sling. I put music on and make blueberry muffins. Wondering when I’m going to cave to coffee.
1:30 p.m. No coffee yet but I’m sensing the time is near. This is the time of day when I start counting the hours until Josh is home. I vacillate between feeling grateful and happy to be home with Hazel, to feeling stuck, like I’m trying to run in water. Hazel is almost always in arms, and my mobility is truly limited.
My muffins came out just so-so. I feel sheepish about spending my time on such mundane tasks as kitchen cleanliness, laundry, and all the rest of the messy house. I am not at all conflicted about staying at home when I tickle Hazel and see the look in her eyes--then I know exactly what I’m doing. I wouldn’t make another choice, but still I see myself as lame sometimes, even though I know better. I’m not supposed to, but I am looking forward to the baby years being done.
6:35 p.m. Took a nap with Hazel. Kids came home from school. Went grocery shopping to escape. Came home and made cardboard box shelves for Jaden’s closet “garage” and put dinner together. The kids are now bonkers. It’s too many hours in the day that I’m doing this. I wonder why we had kids. I wonder how I can find some balance in caring for them. (I was so cranky, disgusted, and plain old mad as hell to bother with writing anymore for the evening. By the end of the night I was so fried and felt such a lack of freedom that I felt like I wanted to beat something with my fists. I didn’t. I was crabby, complained, and went to bed.)
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Michelle A.L. Singer is a mom of three living in East Montpelier who spends half her time deeply grateful for the many gifts of her life and the other half trying to keep her wits about her. Theoretically she is also a writer. She is currently taking lessons from her husband in keeping a sense of humor.