The Rock is the Hard Place

July 27th, 2005

As I was sitting in the “waiting area” of my therapist’s office today, I decided I wanted to write about watching the other people who are there before or after me and how I secretly think “Crazy!”

Ha!

Without going into too much detail regarding my therapist, I realized that our convo today left her a little less than happy with me. You see, I think that if you aren’t in this “Stay at home” (hell, even work at home) position, it is kind of hard to understand.

I think that Moms (and some dads too) in general understand but I’m going to focus on SAHM, mkay?

They say you are “bored” and that your life revolves around routine. It’s true, one of the mainstays of having a baby is having a routine. Our routine (to “copy” Robotnik) goes something like this.

Wake up around 9ish. Ellie has bottle. I eat breakfast. I change a poop diaper. I make coffee. I feed Ellie her breakfast while drinking my coffee. Wipe child off. Let her scream for awhile because I won’t let her hold a nasty spoon.

Eventually, put her in bed. Take a shower. Do laundry. Perhaps clean up kitchen. Check email. Write blog. Make bed. Sit on couch and eat lunch. Lay around because I’m tired. Perhaps work on book stuff. Ellie wakes up.

Feed kid. Try and distract her with “playing.” Change more diapers. Check email again.

It goes on and on. You can’t just “leave” the house when you have to go around naptime. It just doesn’t work that way, especially if your child turns into The Demon Baby without her nap. As I’ve said before, leaving the house is an act onto itself.

Third floor. Very hot Texas heat. Hot car parked in sun. Pissed off kid. Stairs. No elevator. Pregnant. Hot. Hot. Hot. Tired. Tired. Tired. Hot. Hot. Humid.

Walking around the mall does two things for me: Reminds me that I am no longer “hip” and look like an idiot in my pregnancy clothing that doesn’t fit. Reminds me that I can’t buy clothes because ha! None of them fit. Cry when looking at the price of clothing.

If you’d like for me to have a babysitter or mother’s day out, please feel free to send me the check. This “money” thing is hard for people to understand. We don’t live outside of our means. We don’t “charge” things and we don’t just spend for spending’s sake.

I appreciate the “good advice” but really, that’s all it is: Advice.

Advice doesn’t make it cooler outside. Advice doesn’t give my husband a pay raise. Advice doesn’t get me any freelance writing jobs or a babysitter that works for free.

Advice still hasn’t gotten me that townhouse that there’s no way in hell I’m getting.

Advice would like for me to take a vacation, to take a break from the day to day shit that takes up life. Advice doesn’t send me money in the mail, however, to do so.

It’s not self-pity (well, I’m sure there’s some inside) it is more of a Cold Hard Look at Reality.

Every day, reality reminds me that in 6 months, well, it’s gonna get worse. Every day, Advice reminds me it’s all my fault.

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