Owen came down the stairs, into our bedroom, and stood this close to my ear, whispering, "Mommy...Get Up Mommy." It was five AM. I had been asleep for almost forty-five minutes, after feeding Joel. Even after putting Owen back down to bed, I knew that there was no more sleep to be had. Joel would be up shortly. How did I feel? Very depressed.
Paul's working from home today, and we both grumped around all morning. I just feel so trapped...I can't leave the house too much because we're working on Joel's nap schedule, while moving Owen to big-boy pants to get this potty training over with, already. Owen doesn't nap, so I don't have a quiet afternoon time, as I once did. And now, my day is starting three hours early. I feel like that scene in Star Wars, where Luke and Leia are in the giant trash compactor, and the walls just...keep....closing....in. My world is getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller. I'm not reading the papers, I'm not wearing lipstick, and it's not often that I speak a sentence that does not have one of the following words in it: Owen, Mommy, Stop, or It.
So, I took Joel to the gym, had a run, and as always, felt better. Treadmill as Zoloft. I'm going to make a plan---have as many people over here as possible, for both Owen's entertainment and my own. I'll run most days, just to get the dust off of me. I'll continue this blog. I'll look into putting Owen into a "Mom's Day Out" program one day a week, so he's getting something structured during the week and Joel and I can get some focused time together. And, I'll use this gift certificate for a massage ASAP.
I don't like feeling this way, and I don't want my boys to ever think that I resent them, or that I do not treasure the opportunity to be home with them. It's just hard living in a trash-compactor world.