Prepare for a pity party.
This is so one of those days. What the fuck is going on?
I’m exhausted, moody and fat. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was knocked up (not even remotely possible folks – did you catch the beginning of this paragraph? Who wants that?). My scalp hurts for some unexplainable reason, like the roots of my hair are being constantly pulled. And no, I’m not pulling them.
I feel like I can’t accomplish the smallest of tasks. I can’t keep a friggin’ room clean, let alone an entire house, which is disconcerting considering clutter makes me crazy – the white coats should appear any moment. I just feel like I’m making some good headway and continue to the next task only to find what I just finished to be undone. What the hell is the point of cleaning the kitchen when it looks like crap before I go to bed anyway? Fuuuuck. For one small glimmer of a moment I thought I finally had things under control when Jude felt it would be an opportune time to puke on me. The kind of puke which requires the unhindging of a jaw, he heaved like a frat boy.
Gave Jude a bath while Emmy deposited almost an entire tube of chap stick on her face. At least she was having fun.
I thought that by the time Jude was this old that I would have my shit together. I should be able to take the kids out for an afternoon and return to a clean house, and because I can’t – we don’t go out. I can’t really remember the last time I went out with them and had fun. Everything is a fucking stress fest. Hurry, rush and be frantic over every single detail. I don’t think I’m a control freak (maybe I am and people are afraid to tell me?) but something has got to give when you’re stressed from the roots of your hair to your badly pedicured feet.
We have annual passes to various fun places in Calgary. It’s embarrassing to admit how little we’ve used them.
I feel pulled in a thousand directions. Nearly every moment of my waking hours is spent listening, consoling, cooking, cleaning and washing others. I know this is the ballad of every mother – I would seriously be certifiable if I was working – how do you all do it? And although I know I’m not alone, it really does nothing for the fucking golf ball sized knot in my back.
I feel like a failure on most days which is only interrupted by feelings of unattractiveness. I don’t know if I’d say that I’ve let myself go, but good lord in heaven, that’s what it looks like. My Jillian Michael’s 30 Day Shred DVD arrives on Monday. Am I looking forward to it? Nope. As far as I’m concerned, if I can’t find time bathe on a semi regular basis, how in the fuck will I be able to work out? And, workout = bathing, if I’m all ready not bathing, I am going to smell like the back end of a horse. What can I sacrifice to free up that kind of time? I have no reserves to draw from all ready! My fear is that it will be another failure to add to the pile of the things that all ready make me feel like shit.
Post-partum? I don’t think so. I just feel like a stressed out version of myself.
Oh yeah, and I’m sitting here still wearing the shirt Jude heaved on with absolutely no recollection as to why I didn’t change it while I was giving him a bath.
Here’s to doing it all again tomorrow.