I cried so hard yesterday morning that Simon thought I was playing a game. He laughed, so I covered my face with my hands, and he said, "Isheeeeeyew!" ("I see you") which made me cry harder, because it was so sweet, and I am hormonal.
Mornings, traditionally, at Bakertown, go by so fast that it's lunchtime before I've got contacts in and actual pants on. Simon's breakfast, my breakfast, let the dog out, catch up on emails, get a little work done, do a little laundry, load up the dishwasher and BAM. It's noon. It happens that way because--sprinkled between these to-do's--I'm pulling Simon off the book shelf, cleaning up broken glass from a picture frame he threw, nursing a bloody mouth because he climbed on the kitchen table and fell (for the third time)...I hate to stereotype my son, but DANG if he's not 100% pure, energetic, climbing, daredevil-ing BOY.
I had decided that yesterday was going to be different. I was going to be the organized mom who got out of the house before 9:30am and took my son to the discovery museum. I had it all planned out: I would put Simon in front of an episode of "Doooowidge" as in, Curious, run upstairs without him noticing, wash my face, put on clothes, and TADA! We'd be out the door. I'd even pack him a healthful snack this time, instead of hot dogs. I put pillows around the kitchen table in case he fell (again) and moved all potentially dangerous items to cabinets which I then bungee-corded shut. (This is my reality).
When I noticed I hadn't heard his pitter-patters for a few minutes, I was too curious. I was completely naked (it's hard finding clothes when you're 20 weeks pregnant, because you're not super pregnant yet, but you sure aren't lookin' like you used to, ya dig?), so anyway: I was naked. I peeked downstairs and nearly screamed:
The front door was wide open, and neither dog nor boy were watching Curious George.
I bolted to my closet, threw on a bathrobe (didn't tie the belt around...no time when your toddler could be playing in traffic), jumped down at least seven stairs (poor baby in utero....) and found the boys: the dog boy was peeing in the yard, the human boy was squatting and playing in a pile of mud.
I picked Simon up, holding him at arm's length from my un-tied robe (sorry neighbors!), because--for some reason--now was the time to care about getting my robe dirty (?), and by some miracle got us all inside before CPS or animal control showed up.
Y'all. I always deadbolt that door. I swear to you the child unlocked it.
I brought Simon upstairs with me to finish "getting ready" (aka putting clothes and mascara on). In the time it took me to do these two things, he had taken all of the shoes from my closet, pulled the hair straightener down and started the washing machine.
I sat on my bathroom floor. That's when I cried.
It's hard to feel like I'm enough sometimes. I wonder if I'm the only mother in Charlottesville who can't get out of the house without at least two catastrophes. I wonder how they do it: the moms who go for morning runs, make their own almond milk and get their kids to eat lentils. And look beautiful. Some days, the most victorious part of the day is getting groceries. How do other moms get to the: post office, play group, gym, Anthropologie AND the grocery store? Am I lazy? Crazy? A bad planner?
I'm doing that comparison thing that I'm not supposed to do, right? Right.
But the reality is: I do. I totally compare. I compare, compare, compare, and you know what the weird thing is? I'm always the loser.
We really are our own worst critics, aren't we?
I've been thinking of posting "I'm enough" all over my house, for when I forget.
What do you all do to feel like you're enough?