It’s early. Eddoes is already on his way to work but the rest of the house is fast asleep. Well… I can hear Mr Z stirring in his room. I need to drink this coffee and eat this bacon and egg roll quickly or else it’s going to stay here abandoned on the kitchen bench for the rest of the day. Mr 4 has already woken once and I managed to usher him back into bed and under his blankets, holding my breath as the sun threatened to peak through his bedroom blinds and signal the start of a new day. No, not just yet. Please not yet. I just need a moment to breathe. A moment to myself.
I’m not a morning person, but here I am, stealing what I can of the solace that comes with being one of the first in our household awake. Usually this happens at the other end of the day (I’m normally the last one awake, thinking, reading, or writing long after the last light has been switched off). But I can’t go back to sleep this morning. Hell, I could barely sleep last night.
Long past the point that my body was well and truly ready to shut down for the day, my mind was alert and alive. There was a highway full of thoughts zooming around my mind at breakneck speed.
What colour should we pick for the front facade of the house? All those shades of cream are starting to look the same. How on earth are we supposed to pick colours for the inside of the house? How much is all that custom joinery going to cost for the bedrooms? Can I even afford the shelves for that pantry? Shit, that’s a lot of square metres worth of floorboards that we need to buy and install. How many people have RSVPd for Mr Z’s baptism? Do I need to order a cake? When am I going to buy fabric? Do I have enough jars for the giveaways? Why can’t I lie down properly? Why is my pelvis still giving me hell? What time is my pilates class tomorrow morning? Where are my leggings? Oh crap, we forgot to fold the washing over the weekend. Also forgot to take Mr Z to the doctor to get his tongue checked. My throat hurts, and I hate being congested. F*k it’s hot. Why is it so hot? Where is that school prep stuff we got from Mr 4’s day care? Why does he hate colouring in? Is that my fault? I bet you that’s my fault. Can I afford a holiday? I would love a holiday. Hmmm… holidays.
The result of all this (over)thinking is I spend the day feeling like an utter zombie. All the thoughts cause one big traffic jam that no coffee – no matter the strength or size – can un-jam. Then at night, they unleash and I can’t get the rest I’m supposed to. It’s a never ending cycle.
I have tried, many times, to blog something – anything – but time keeps vanishing. Or, more accurately, it’s just consumed by the avalanche of things that are happening in my life. We’ve got Mr Z’s baptism to prepare for (it’s two weeks away), and about ten million decisions to make about the house we have yet to start building. The last three weekends have been spent combing through the fine print of our tender and matching our written modifications to the first draft of the floor plan (or in some cases not matching), as well as driving around Sydney scoping out the shade of bricks we want. All the while trying to fit in several pilates and physio sessions in every week because as it turns out, I am one of the unlucky few who is stuck with SPD well after labour (f*k you, stupid pelvis – get your s*t together already), and exercising and treating my muscles regularly is necessary if I want to be able to oh, I don’t know, move or lie down without it hurting.
And every day I wake up thinking I’ll get heaps done… and then I remember there are two human beings that are quite dependant on my attention (one of them completely dependent on me for his nutrition), and I get through about 0.2% of my to-do list. And it sucks. I feel out of my depth and about two steps away from completely losing it. This is not a pleasant feeling. But I feel it often.
I totally cracked it the other day because Eddoes got to the station 30 minutes later than usual without giving me sufficient notice and it threw my entire evening routine out of whack. And every parent knows routines are the the key to any sense of sanity (well, they are for my family anyway). Throw a routine out of whack and everyone goes cray cray. Try reversing a car onto a busy road during peak hour while your baby shrieks in the backseat and your toddler is trying to get your attention using the same approach as Stewie from Family Guy:
So yeah, the husband copped an earful on the way home.
It’s a good thing I married a patient guy, because I’m quite vocal about my frustration. And it turns out, when I’m severely sleep deprived and I lack the ability to control my day, I get frustrated a lot.
Even writing (or perhaps, the lack of writing?) is frustrating. But what’s nice is that I’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes writing and being able to put more than two sentences together on paper/screen without being interrupted. It feels amaaaazing. It’s so soothing. I just wish I could do more of it, more often. I have a back log of half-written blog posts just waiting to be edited… but my brain is so full at the moment I just cannot deal. So for now this verbal diarrhoea and a glimpse into the traffic jam in my head is all you get.
PS how great is that clip of Stewie? It never gets old. Unless it’s your own kid doing to you, of course. That gets old really fast.