So, here I am really trying to not completely lose my s*** right now. I’ve got a kid who doesn’t think he has to listen to me and a husband who doesn’t encourage him to. Not really anyway.
I understand that life and parenting and relationships are all full of ups and downs. Perfect or happy moments tend to not last forever. There is inevitably a downturn. We are currently in the downturn.
Choo-choo and Diesel have both been battling head colds. This means they have felt like crap. This also means I have had a really hard time trying to get things accomplished because Diesel has been falling asleep as soon as he gets home from work.
Take the other night for example. We had already finished dinner. Well, I say we but I really mean Diesel and I. Choo-choo had taken about two bites’ worth and decided he’d rather I save it for another day as opposed to him eating it right then. My husband and son were watching TV in the living room. I needed to work on here a little as well as fix a few things in a manuscript I am writing.
Now, mind you, I took care of Choo-choo all day while Diesel was at work. I’m the one who got him back to sleep the four times he woke up overnight. I’m the one who skipped some housecleaning just so I could spend extra time playing with him. I figured I deserved a little time to get something of mine done.
Well, Diesel fell asleep. Of course. I don’t fault him for that, as I know how tired he was. But it was just like, really? Choo-choo tried to wake him up several times, but that didn’t seem to help much. I told him to let Daddy sleep because he needed it and to play with his toys until I could go back in there. So Choo-choo played with his toys like I suggested. However, he kept asking me every two minutes to go in there and play with him.
Honestly, though, he wasn’t asking. It wasn’t a “Will you please come play with me?” kind of thing. It was a command, not a question. “Play with me!”
This is from the same child who has been demanding things of me all week. “I want a tissue,” with an expectant look. “I want this.” “I want that.” Please and thank you have gone out the window. And the thing is, I had gotten him to a point when anything he wanted was asked for in a kind, sincere question. For example, “May I have a tissue please?”
Unfortunately, all the politeness seemed leave the same time his cold arrived. Even now that he’s feeling a bit better, Choo-choo is still demanding rather than asking. I am so over it.
And, I mean, I don’t fault him for wanting me in the living room to play that night, obviously, though he could have made it known in a nicer way. He wanted to have fun with Mommy. I completely understand and love that.
But Diesel was kind of awake at this point. Did he tell Choo-choo to let me work so I could get it done (the same thing I kept having to tell our son)? Um, nope. He did not. Did Diesel get on the floor and play until I could go in there? Another no. Did he get him to put his toys away and pee in the potty before bed? Nope, nope, and nope.
I was so stressed out, which led to my mind becoming blank. I tried so, so hard to finish quickly, but time kept ticking away. There was the constant soundtrack of my son asking for me in the background.
Now, you might be wondering why I didn’t just play then and work later. Well, bedtime was rapidly approaching. I knew I would be spending the next half hour or maybe hour getting Choo-choo to go to sleep. Then I’d have to spend time with Diesel before he went to bed, even if it meant we were just going to watch TV. He hates it when I am on the computer or iPad during that time. If I waited until he was asleep, my mind would have been so fried that I never would have gotten the post done before morning.
So did I make the right choice?
I say yes. It still sucks though. It sucks not feeling appreciated or respected. It sucks that what I do isn’t seen as a job even though it takes hours to do simply because there is no pay. Whether it’s writing on the blog or in my manuscript/poem/short story, etc., I feel like it doesn’t mean anything to Diesel. But it means so much to me. Not as much as my family, but darn close.
Writing fulfills me in ways no one or nothing else can. It gives me a joy. It acts like a type of therapy. Writing makes me feel like me. I mean, in one way or another, I have been a creative writer since I was 15. Sometimes I want to write, sometimes I need to.
It almost feels like I should just sell tickets to my life.
“You want to be entertained? Laugh at the writer/blogger/stay at home mom who thinks she can be happy and fulfilled in every aspect of her life!”
Here’s the thing I’ve learned, though, and this is key: I know that a bad moment or even a bad day or two does not mean a bad life. Even while we are stuck in a downturn, things are still not as bad as they could be. And even if they are, the upside will always return. It is inevitable. I am glad to know this, to know we won’t be stuck in the yuckiness forever.