Imperfectly...Well, Imperfect

I had to go back and read my post from yesterday because, as the day continues to replay in my head, I had to see again how it started.  Semi- under control and relatively ordinary...which is not the way it played out as the day went on.  I cringe a little at the thought of posting this, but for an accurate representation of us as a family and of my own struggles, I think it's almost best to be a little transparent.  At least, I hope so.  And that I'm not judged too harshly.

Somewhere between the spills and the yells and the back-talking and the "Mom.  Mama.  My Mom.  Maaamaaa.  Mom.  Mommy.  Mom.  Mama.  My Mom.  Mommy," something in me broke.  I lost my grip on the day and it went in a downward spiral, which ended with me in the grocery store parking lot at 7:46pm, crying so hard that I couldn't get out of the car, and when I finally did, the look of pity I got from the woman behind the deli counter told me that I probably should not have.  I felt pathetic. 

So, I went back through the day in my mind today.  Where did it go wrong?  Where did I start to feel sorry for myself because, truly, that is where I was.  If the deli woman was pitying me, I assure you I was pitying myself more.  (Which, to be clear, I know to be silly.  Worse, it's stupid.  Shameful.  And pretty out of character.) 

I like to think that I am pretty thankful.  If I don't portray it here on my blog, let me assure you that rarely a day passes when I don't thank God for this life that I have.  I know there are people who would do anything to have this life; I was one of them.  So, as I describe what turned into a horrible and self-destructive day, understand that it was just that.  It was a day.  It went wrong. 

It was something that happened over lunch that started it, but I honestly could not tell you what exactly.  Maybe it was the 23rd time that I had to ask someone to eat, or the fighting over toys, or the scraps of food that filled the milk glasses and were scattered on the floor, but I felt my chest starting to get tight.  The kids were put down almost as soon as lunch was over with very little to-do, but it was too late.  I was on a roll, internally, anyway.  I took a very long and very hot shower, hoping to wash my mood away.  Instead, my grievances from months past started running through my head.  I thought about all of the work I had put into changing my own life for the good of our family and how unappreciated I felt.  I thought about all of the times I could have done something fun with friends and had instead chosen to stay home because it was just easier.  I thought about the seven pounds I am retaining from Hatch's pregnancy and the eight more from Leo's.  I thought about how thankless my mom/wife job is...and I got mad.  Horribly mad and hurt and...(here comes more cringing) lonely.  It's lonely.  And there is the root of it.  Because, as little alone time as I ever get (the grocery store is really it), I don't really have much "peer" interaction.  Even yesterday, when all I wanted to do was to pick up the phone and talk to someone who understood, I just couldn't.  1.) I didn't want to admit how selfish I was feeling and I didn't want to say out loud that things that day weren't great and 2.) I didn't even know who to call.  The truth is, we all have our own struggles; mine are not special or brand new.  They are, however, still difficult to admit.  Even now, I don't like reliving yesterday, though I have played it in my mind again and again. 

My mood is starting to improve and I do understand how ridiculous it all is; justified, maybe, but still ridiculous.  What I have here is good.  I am appreciated.  Maybe not verbally and definitely not always, but I know if I were to leave (no, I didn't consider that...it wasn't THAT bad), the boys wouldn't know what to do with themselves.  The crying shamelessly did help to get some of the hurt out, but did leave me with a horrible headache today.  Maybe it's what I deserve.  I do think that we are all perfectly imperfect, but that doesn't include me yesterday.  Yesterday, I was flawed all over.  Not beautifully flawed, just flawed/flawed.  Sometimes, the truth hurts, even when you're just telling it to yourself (and even more when you're admitting it publicly on a blog.)  Oh, well.  Life goes on.  (More about that later.)

So, How is it With Three? (Revisited)

We come back to this question.  Several weeks back, I had written that it was easy, barely different than life with two.  Naturally, things change.  As Hatch grows older (and Leo and Patrick grow older), our day-to-day gets a little more difficult.  However, I still contend that it is probably not much harder than two, minus that my hands are usually filled by one baby and that my reactions are a little slower, especially if I am feeding said baby.  Patrick and Leo have become best buddies.  Patrick is, of course, older and therefore more verbal and Leo (our baby gorilla) is active.  I wish there were a word a little more powerful to accurately describe him, but that will have to do.  They make excellent playmates: Patrick, the master-mind and Leo, the exectutor.  This combination means that chaos sometimes visits...and that gets a little overwhelming.  Very fun, but very busy.  And if I haven't showered and have only changed my pj pants today because I happened to spill coffee on them, so be it.  I'm otherwise occupied.

Twenty to twenty-five minutes after waking up this morning, I had changed three diapers, the toilet paper had, by a pre-school report, "fallen off" the roll in both bathrooms, Leo had consumed one container of yogurt, one bowl of oatmeal, a glass of milk, and half of a tube of tinted moisturizer and had snapped yet another necklace in half.  Patrick had found a very large screwdriver and was "fixing" a broken guitar (I have yet to figure out which guitar or what he meant by "fixing.")  Hatch was up, ate, and back down again.  I redeemed one Groupon and watched a half of an episode of Wife Swap, had a cup of coffee, and spilled my second.  I learned that we have no wipes, no trash bags, and groceries are tragically low.  The kitchen table was (and still is) occupied by things that should not be on a kitchen table (one of my biggest pet peeves), our living room is re-arranged in a configuration I am not sure that I like, I mentally listed the approximately six orders of business to tend to in order of importance.  This is how a typical day looks, all day long.  As busy as it is mundane, for sure.

Hatch is now three months old.  He's still such a sweet baby, always happy, always smiling (even if there are tears in his eyes.)  He is tolerant, not stirred much by noise, and adores his big brothers, his dad, and me.  He's a peach of a little boy.  I'll take half a dozen more, just like him.  As with all of the kids, I wish that time would slow down a little.  The newborn phase has come and gone, he sleeps through the night, takes fairly routine naps, and is filling out all over.  I don't think he's as small as he once was, though his feet are still super-tiny (at least compared to Leo's baby "paddles.")  When we go to pick him up, he smiles and immediately snuggles in to our necks.  It's just heaven.  He's a little angel...for now. 

We have found that getting out of the house is a little harder than it once was, as we are again heavily-loaded on the baby supplies, the diaper bag, boppy, appropriate blankies and toys, etc.  It takes quite a bit of organization and planning, which doesn't always go off without a hitch.  Adam and I both struggle with our need for control of a situation, which means we sometimes have stressful exits.  Just this weekend, in such a fashion, the car ride to Cinncinati to visit family started a little quietly.  A little bit of attitude was thrown around, but was squashed in a way so classically ours.  Adam serenaded the following:

Nobody but me gonna love you like you ought to be loved on.
Nobody but me gonna cry if you up and le-ee-eave. 
You can do what you want to, but I'm asking pretty please,
Don't go lovin on nobody but me.

To which I had to serenade back:

The beating of my heart is a drum and it's lost and it's looking for a rhythm like yo--ouuu
You can  take the darkness from the deep of the night and turn it to a beacon burning endlessly bright,
(I gotta follow it) 'cause everything I know...well, it's NOTHING 'TIL I GIVE IT TO YOU...

So, it short, life with three is busy.  It's perhaps a little harder than life with two, but we manage.  We may have our strange ways of doing it, but that's nothing new.  Even Patrick, from the back of the van, will quip in his usual "You guys are so weird."  It's ok, though. It's good.