I didn't plan to start this day, the day of my oldest
boy's 10th birthday this way - with me yelling, I mean really yelling, at the
boys on the way to school. I looked in the rear-view and took in the sight of
Ben looking stricken at my outburst. Immediately I felt completely low, truly
awful.
It started the way most mom tantrums do for me. I took on
too much, and it all rained down on me at once. I'm an emergency parent for
Gus's preschool, and someone called me yesterday to ask if I could take her
shift In the classroom - her kids were sick. Sure, I said, adding to
yesterday's to-do list making a batch of muffins to bring as a snack for Gus's
class.
Today began with an extra early wake-up for my early
riser, Gus. He wanted to start the day at 5:30 a.m. He was lying in bed with me
and Mark (yeah, he sneaks in every night). We'd laid down the law, told him,
no, he wasn't getting up yet. Moments later, Paul, who had also snuck in for an
early-morning snuggle, mumbled, "Mom, I wet ..." I stretched sleepily
and felt the large wet spot on our mattress. Fantastic.
Well, needless to say, I wasn't going to sneak in any
extra sleep today. We were up. I should've been golden. I had plenty of time to
do a Pilates video to make up for the Y class I would miss in taking the shift
at Gus's school. I could eat a somewhat leisurely breakfast and still have
ample time to shower. I managed to do the video, and perhaps I ate just a
little too leisurely. Suddenly I was scrambling. I made it into the shower and
managed to get my hair done. I thought I'd throw on some makeup after I got the
boys to school.
I rushed out to the kitchen to quickly cut the bars I'd
made for Ben's birthday treat. The bars were not cutting easily, and it was
taking way longer than it should've. In the meantime, Gus tried to get himself
some water but managed to spill all over himself. His clothes were soaked. Paul
came in and started crying about the fact that I'd made a treat for Ben's
class, and there were no extras for him. "It's not fair!" he
screamed. Frantically trying to finish the cutting, Paul came in and asked for
help putting on his socks. "Find a pair you can get on yourself!" I
shot back.
The bars were finally cut, but by this time, we should've
left a good five minutes ago. I remembered how cold it would be today and
frantically searched for warm coats for Ben and Paul. Gus was standing there in
his underwear - the wet cloths, not at all ready for a car ride. I pulled the
toys out of Gus's hands, deposited him into a pair of sweatpants and
sweatshirt, and carried him, crying, to his car seat.
I grabbed the spare key (too frazzled to find my set) and
got in the van barefoot. Paul didn't have his jacket on and was fighting me
about the one I'd chosen for him. "Put it on!" I yelled. More
protest. "Put. It. On!" I screamed. And we've come full circle to those stricken looks.
Why, this long story is quite a divergence in an entry
ostensibly meant to celebrate your beloved oldest son's double-digit birthday,
you may be thinking. I think it pretty perfectly sums up my imperfect career as a mom,
however. Things rarely turn out as I'd expect.
Ben arrived eight days late. My water broke at 3:30 in
the morning. My doctor - we used our GP instead of an OB-GYN the first time
around - was out of town, and the doctor we got instead seemed a little out of
his element when it came time to push and the baby was failing to emerge. He
didn't make the call to do an episiotomy until I'd been pushing for two hours.
By then, the damage was done. "It's a boy!" Mark announced. My
precious boy was laid on my chest, and I shed some happy tears.
I did not anticipate what came next, however - two hours
of stitching and the loss of a very large amount of blood. This wasn't the
scene I'd pictured. I was in rough shape when it was time to go home, and our
expectations were completely unrealistic. Ben had slept great at the hospital!
Surely we'd be fine! Forgive me if I've already written about this next bit,
because I tell this story a lot. It will never stop being funny to me. We set
Ben in his bassinet and set the alarm for four hours, so I could wake up and
feed him. Yeah, he woke up 30 seconds later. That was our initiation to real
baby sleep habits.
For the first month or so, I was in a tailspin. I was
feeling the way the addition of a baby had changed my relationship with Mark,
and most of all I was hormonal and oh so tired. Let's just say I spent a lot of
minutes crying in the shower those first weeks.
Eventually, things calmed down, we got into a routine. On
Ben's first birthday, my sister-in-law caught me looking emotional. "It's
a big day for you, too," she noted. She had that right. I don't need to go
on about how 10 years have evaporated before my eyes. (They have, they really
have!) You all know how that goes, right?
I just want to say, Ben, you have changed my life in the
best possible ways. You have helped teach me to be a mom. On this day, your
10th birthday, my 10th momiversary (?), I want to tell you that
you are amazing, bright, beautiful. We treasure you. I'll wing a little prayer
that you'll forgive (and forget - please, please, please) my transgressions and
that in the end you'll grow into a wonderful person more because of me than in
spite of me.
No comments:
Post a Comment