Holding Pattern

This isn’t a complaint, or a depressed rant. Really. Although Tricia did say that November is the new February and I believe it.


I wake up every morning to the sound of crying. Hopefully it’s 9:30, mostly it’s 8:00.

I go get my boy and bring him into my bed and nurse him.

I post a picture of my shoes to Flickr.

I change the boys diaper.

I feed us both oatmeal.

I change the boys clothes and I put on my running shoes and I hope desperately that the boy takes a good nap.

I put the boy in his crib, tell him I love him, tell him to have a good sleep.

Maybe then read some blogs even though I know I don’t really have time for that. Look for some pajamas on Ebay.

I run my 4.5 miles and watch Battlestar Galactica. Sometimes I get really crazy and I do 3.5 miles of HIIT instead. I pray that the boy naps the whole time and that I might even be able to take a shower before he wakes up.

I wonder where the mail is and why it takes so long to get here.

The boy wakes up. I feed him some lunch and if he’s in a good enough mood I can eat something and maybe take a shower while he sits in his walker.

Sometimes Mr. E comes home for lunch. This is the highlight of my day.
I read some blogs or try to write something. I’m trying to be less overprotective and so I let the boy crawl around on the floor despite the plethora of dog hair and the fact that I have to pull him away from the computer cords over and over and over again.

I start thinking about dinner. I try not to eat anything. I try not to buy anything.

I read some more blogs, check my email. Sometimes the boy and I sit outside and I try to read a book or the paper or the New Yorker. Sometimes we go for a walk.

Fussy fussy fussy.

I try to feed the boy some more. Usually he doesn’t go for it. I try to put him down for another nap. Usually he doesn’t go for it.

Maybe some one calls and I talk on the phone for awhile. If the boy decides to sleep I try to sweep or pick up the shit that’s always strewn all over my house. Maybe I put him in the Ergo and we bounce around the house, if he’s really fussy.

I get the mail.

Somedays Mr. E doesn’t come home until 10:30 or so because he’s teaching class and on those days, I honestly have no idea what we do from 5:00 to 10:00. It’s desperation at that point. It’s microwaved chicken burritos and nursing over and over again and trying trying trying to get the boy to sleep or to eat something or to play by himself for two minutes. If I have a rare burst of energy I might give him a bath.

When Mr. E comes home at 5:00 he takes the boy and I make dinner and we hang out and eat and watch bad tv and go to bed and fight about whether or not I can read before I fall asleep.

I do this every day.

(Sometimes I do laundry.)

And I can’t help it. Lately I find myself looking around and wondering “Is this it?”

I’m not complaining. I just feel like a loser. I love the fact that I’m raising my son. I am grateful that I can stay home with him. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But at the same time, I don’t know, I don’t feel like I am “living my passion”. The bills are paid, for the most part. My child is cared for, loved, adored. My husband is my favorite person in the world and I get to spend the rest of my life with him. He makes me laugh every single time I talk to him. And yet, the most exciting thing I’ve done lately is to have an innapropriate dream about Mr. E’s cousin and even then I refused to do anything more than kiss him because I had a child and dream me didn’t think that would be right.

I just look around me and it seems like everyone else is having fun and wearing new shoes and going on dates and planning vacations and I am wearing frumpy jeans and pushing a jogging stroller around my neighborhood for kicks and scraping drool off my shoulder before I answer the door and I can’t help but feel.. Pathetic. Bored. Boring. And old.


6 Responses

  1. I wish I lived closer, so I could babysit and you and your favorite person on earth could spend a day or night together, painting the town, buying you new shoes, peruse travel books to pick your next hotspot.

    Although leaving your child with a total blogging stranger (who dresses their dog like a lobster) is crazy, I know.

    But crazy is sometimes just what life needs.

  2. I can completely relate. We win boring! Yay!

  3. I would usually not comment on a post like this, because I don’t have kids and so feel that I don’t have any good or relevant things to say. But I totally identify with you here. Feeling boring or old before your time is not a function of our families, our kids, or the specifics of our lives. It happens to all of us at one time or another, and speaks much more to our current states of mind. I believe that ANYone, no matter how interesting or fulfilling their lives, could look at someone else’s life and wish it was theirs instead. I look at you and see things I wish I had – a cute baby, mad photography and decorating skills, good taste, the energy to have a clean/orderly household, oh yeah, and running! I wish I could get back to the days when I ran 6-7 miles, 2-3 times a week. So by a lot of standards, you do have a good and exciting life. You are a creative and strong person. If you don’t feel that way all the time, it’s normal. If you never feel that way, you owe it to yourself to address it- whatever it takes- babysitter, therapy, vacation, spa, bottle of wine, husband cutting back work, you going to work, whatever applies to your situation.
    Ok, that’s my 2 cents… feel free to discard any/all of that!

  4. Dude. Stop stealing my thoughts.

    Oh, and Eli sleeps ’til 8am?

    Georgia is up before 6 these days.

  5. Mate, it does not get any better really…. until they go to school and you can indulge in some hobbies or a part time job or whatever…. find some other girls with bubs and hang out, share the grumpiness! I ‘lost’ you for a wee while… you changed blog address!!!

  6. If it’s any consolation (and it’s probably not, but go with me) you make it all sound interesting.

    Really though I completely understand. And that’s depressing because according to *Them* I’m supposed to be living the exciting life of a lesbian (haha!) and, like, checking off boxes on My Liberal Agenda everyday, except that what I’m mostly doing is reading and wondering why the cats always choose to vomit on the good rug. And, worse–I don’t even have a baby to dress up in cute little bunny-eared hats and stuff. Woe.

    All of this is just to say, hang in there. I have no good advice.

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