Motherhood Uncensored

Can't find a better mom

There's something about a couple of weeks vacation away from my role as primary caregiver that makes me want to be a better mom.

I suppose it's not really the best time to make a bid for mom of the year. That's like Kelly McGillis launching a huge comeback.

Of course, we all probably said the same thing about Neil Patrick Harris. And harem pants.

Stop! Hammer time!

Who knew that Neil Patrick Harris would be my flask of hope?

But really, the chance to step back and enjoy your children on a "husbandly basis" (at least in our house, anyway) is refreshing, mostly because you get to wipe the film off your parenting glasses and see things clearly.

Rose colored, even.

Yes, it was just that awesome.

You know, when meals are meals again and not an hour-long food litigation case, and mega blocks are fun, creative toys and not the tools for building the devil's empire.

So considering that I've endured a pretty strict diet and most recently, an exercise program, making the decision to become a better parent shouldn't be that difficult. But unfortunately, in those situations, I was the one in control. With kids, I am at their will, or better, at their will and 4000 other factors that converge on a daily basis.

Or just lack of sleep. That's enough to make any good parent strike out.

But if I can make Jillian Michaels my bitch, then I'm determined to make a conscious effort to be a better mom to my kids.

Ironically, it has less to do with my actual interactions with them, and more with how I take care of myself. I've made plenty of efforts over the last five years to ensure that my kids are afforded the best opportunities. I'm not talking baby yoga classes and private Mandarin Chinese lessons. Just activities outside of the daily routine of eat, sleep, and play.

But sadly, the activities I do with them are far more than I do for myself. Hell, I can barely find time to shower.

I've put aside a lot for my kids. Probably too much.

And I've gotten busy, with things that I enjoy, don't get me wrong, but many of which are a time suck. A needless time suck that I've used as a way to escape from what tends to be a challenging existence.

So I'm refocusing my attention. I'm reorganizing my priorities. And I'm trying to figure out what's really important to me and what I need to let go.

Bear with me.

My husband officially leaves today.

I haven't found a sitter yet and I'm swimming in about four tons of laundry.

I just realized that we have no idea exactly how or when we're going to be communicating with my husband while we're gone.

My military ID has expired and I'm not sure if our pediatrician still takes the military health insurance that I'll have for the next two months.

Ah the glories of being a wife to a National Guardsman.

We're the lost military branch, blended with society for most of the time, but when we're called up for deployment, we're left to fumble around in the dark without a fucking flashlight.

I've got lots to say and stories to tell you, like my MIL turning her nose halfway down to my thank-you gift from Tiffany, my BFF's beautiful new baby boy, the amazing experience of performing one of my blog posts live for a real, live paying audience, and how fantastic it has been to get some time away from my kids and rejuvenate my soul as a mother.

I just need to clear my tired, slightly anxious head and detangle myself from this long-ass to-do list.

Enyce

Apparently I picked a pretty great week to leave Atlanta considering half of the city is completely underwater and the kids are out of school until Monday.

I've been making the daily trek via car and train to NYC for work and fun and fun work, all of which I'm hoping will act as a drug to help regulate what will be a somewhat insane next couple of months. 

I suppose maybe it's weird what honking horns, the oddly appetizing street food, and the dog-poop infested sidewalks can do for the soul. 

(Okay, so I'm hanging with some of my best and dearest friends in the whole world, as well as performing on stage for the first time in a very long time).

But there's just something in the air here, well other than pollution, that breathes new life into my suburban housewife lungs. 

So, I've cut the bangs, shredded the pounds, and pillaged H&M just for this occasion. 

Because if there's any reason to try really hard to look like you're not trying hard at all, NYC is it.

You just can't beat being surrounded by people who are able to grab random, non-matching clothes and shoes out of their closets and look stylish. Or who can pull off the shiny spandex and crop-top combo that you were just making fun of from that American Apparel ad. 

But the moment of truth is when some poor unsuspecting tourist in her jean dress and Crocs (no lie) asks you (You, the mom of 3 who is still trying to get over the fact that she bought, and now advocates for, skinny jeans) for directions - ones that you could actually tell her.

Of course, she doesn't have to know that about five minutes before she asked me where the hell to go I was walking around in circles trying to figure out the same thing. 

Early in the morning

Apparently 5am is the new 7am around here.

A few days ago, when she was waking up at 5am after sleeping through the entire night, it wasn't so bad.

Oh who am I kidding? It was still sort of sucky, particularly because I was still going to bed at midnight. It's hard to enjoy the fact that she slept from 7pm through until 5am when it's still bloody dark out and you're oddly more exhausted then you were when you were waking up to feed her twice every night.

It was fine yesterday when I was going to wake up anyway to run 7 miles.

(Can you believe I actually chose to run 7 miles yesterday? Well, actually 7.5 miles but still? Insane!)

But alas. Since arriving at the in-laws, she's been waking up 3-4 times. Thankfully my FIL is here to alert me to her screaming since I didn't just put her back down at 3am and couldn't hear her in the room right next to her.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock!!!!

(Seriously the gusto with which he knocked was more annoying than the fact that he was actually knocking).

I tried to ignore it but he kept knocking.

"YES," I groaned.

"I just wanted to let you know that the baby is screaming," he said.

Great. Thanks for that astute observation.

After she had already woken up once at midnight, I decided to let her cry when 3am rolled around, which went over light a pair of lead brick booties because she had poop in her diaper.

POOP? What are we, 2 months old here, Margot? You're 11 and 5/8 months kid. Buck up.

I swear to God they totally know that we're trying to get them to go back to sleep and they're like "I'll squeeze out the teeniest tiniest pebbles of poop so that I can't possibly go back to sleep and then I shall scream and you will come in and feel reaallllly bad for letting me scream and then I will repeat this entire cycle tomorrow except without the poop because you'll come in without that because you're so fucking predictable." Cue evil laugh.

Of course, she's pooped again at 5am again both days. I'm guessing that she gets pissed-off induced constipation so the entire time I was away she didn't go.

But what she doesn't realize is that I need my Goddamn beauty sleep.

Seriously kid. Don't you know who I am?

Is being pregnant sexy? You tell me.

I was sent this very interesting video yesterday from HOTMilk Lingerie. Is being pregnant sexy? Go watch and tell the Mominatrix what you think.