Mommy Mojo

Back in the halcyon days of sleeplessness and fretting about milk production

Last night I was supposed to go to the movies but I got too lazy. Plus, there's nothing good playing. So instead I just hid in the office with a glass of red wine and wrote while the Mister took the kids for ice cream and then began the completely boring, monotonous, I-can't-believe-this-is-really-my life bedtime routine.

All was well in the world, or all was tolerable, made rosier by the fact that I was freed for at least 24 hours from having to repeat the words "don't splash water out of the tub" ad infinitum.

Because here's the thing (and I know even writing this makes me the object of scorn or pity in the eyes of some—not that I care what those judgemental a-holes think): I am not really enjoying this parenting thing at the moment.  In fact, it feels like a giant pain in the ass.

My friend Molly hates admissions of parental distress that are preceded by claims of love for one's children because of course we love our children like nothing else in the world, and of course we would throw ourselves in front of a bus to protect them, and of course we want them to be happy and well-adjusted and to feel loved.  So, in honor of Molly, I'm going to spare you that part and just say that if I hear one more sentence that begins with the words, "Mommy, I want..." I am going to scream.  Actually, the screaming started a long time ago.  

Which brings me to the other thing: I'm sort of tapped out.  I need to figure out how to get my happy mommy mojo back.  I need to find the joy in completing the Eric Carle puzzle yet again and stop seeing every single activity as a power struggle just waiting to happen.  Because right now, every trip to the playground is just a fight about going home that hasn't happened yet. 

A thing I like

I worked out with Tina Vindum this morning and let's just say that the next time you see me I will look exactly the same but I will be a better, happier person.  I don't really like personal trainers and I don't really like the word "awesome," but she was awesome.  Seriously.  You can buy her new book (just that picture of her on the cover will inspire you to do a few lunges) if you can't afford her in the (incredibly firm) flesh.