And Then Everything Was OK

I've been in a bit of a funk lately - not constantly, and nothing extreme - just enough of one to be a giant pain in the ass to both myself and my husband. I think it's mainly the bliss of returning to work that's gotten me down; being pulled in five different directions takes some getting used to. I'm sure it's not a new feeling for any parent out there, but it's really been hitting me hard the past week - that I'm not much more than just a mom. Don't get me wrong; being a mom is, in my opinion, the most important and rewarding job one can have, but sometimes, on occasion, I miss being Kim. I miss being able to run to Target on a moment's notice, or spend an hour editing and organizing my photos, or blog about my kid, or do laundry without having to re-fluff the clothes in the dryer ten times before I finally get a chance to fold them, or even just watch thirty minutes of TV that isn't something on Nick Jr. or Sprout. Asher was at the age where we no longer needed to drag five changes of clothes and twenty diapers with us everywhere we went. We didn't really have to plan our outings around his feeding schedule. He can sit up on his own. Get this - he can walk! Then we went back to square one with Henry and are having to adjust to giving up those tiny freedoms again. This time around, though, we are more hopeful because we know it gets better. We know this ball-and-chain phase doesn't last forever and, actually, up until I returned to work, I hadn't even really been bothered much by our return to newbornland.

Returning to work this time around is tougher, though. For one, I know Stephen is at home struggling with caring for two kids. And then, when I get home, I'm now having to split myself between housework and two children. I'm having a hard time accepting the fact that I can't be a good, attentive mom and get all the laundry done, bathroom cleaned, floors swept, etc. I might be able to get some of the laundry done and at least pick up the assortment of toys that were strewn about on the floor that day. And that's about it. As far as doing anything additional that I might want to do, I can forget about it. Henry's screaming at me to pay attention to him, and Asher's about to explode if I don't get another train video lined up for him on the computer.

It's funny, though, how one second I can absolutely feel like I'm going to bash my head through the wall, and then Henry will give me a giant smile (see below) or Asher will tell me he loves me, and then all is right with the world. Amazingly - that's all it takes. I wish there was some way I could bottle those smiles and coos and sweet and funny words that come from my kids and take a hit off of it whenever I need a pick-me-up. Because sometimes when I get that overwhelming anxiety attack, my kids aren't showering me with love. Sometimes they're both screaming at me at the same time, and both have poopy diapers, and both need to be fed. And this is why I have about a million pictures of my smiling babies plastered all over the walls of my house, so that no matter where I am and what kind of wringer they're putting me through, I can glance up, take a deep breath, see my happy babies and remember that I'm not just their mom. I'm a good mom. I may not be able to be in two places at once or have four arms to hold them at the same time or have floors clean enough that they can eat off of, but not once have I drowned them in the bathtub or driven them into a pond of water. I will always remind them of that.