I finally have 15 minutes to myself while Hubby and the boys are out for a walk. I’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks, wanting so much to blog. As I drive around the neighborhoods while my sons sleep in the backseat of the car I blog in my head, like I used to, back in the day when I posted and commented on a regular basis. That was a long time ago – pre-pregnancy to be exact.
I have 15 minutes, but now I don’t know what to say. There’s not enough time to do anything justice and I can’t focus in on one post. Who knows when the next time I have 15 minutes will be? I could choose the wrong thing to post about and not be able to write again for weeks. Then I would have wasted my precious 15 minutes. Or I could get going on something I really care about and then they could return early with Robby crying in the stroller and I’d be frustrated that I couldn’t finish. Even now I sit here and wonder if each noise I hear is them coming back down the hall. And so I write virtually nothing…
I’ve been on my own with Robby and Sam for nearly two weeks now. Each day that goes by would result in a very different response were someone to ask me how I am doing on my own (but no one asks). Perhaps this is why I have so many things I want to write about, so many things I want to say and get out of my brain. I could talk about how hard it is for some of us to bond with our babies, especially when we feel like we don’t have time to “bond” because we are just trying to keep everyone and everything functioning. Or I could observe that (on SOME days) taking care of two children is actually easier than being with one very colicky and fussy one all day long when all you have is the crying – I remember how isolated I felt with Sam as an infant. Or I could comment on the article I read in the most recent Brain, Child called “Holding Baby Birds,” about facing that consuming fear we have of losing our children, how I often envision horrible things happening to them and I used to wonder if that was normal. Then again I could just write my post entitled, “Stupid Thursday,” in which I relay to you the really stupid things I have tried to do with two kids in tow for the past 2 Thursdays. It’s like I survive Monday through Wednesday and feel invincible so I do something against my better judgment, resulting in one or two screaming children and me trying to speed home in rush hour traffic. The climax of last Thursday was when Robby was screaming all the way home so I was rushing Sam out of the car so we could get into our apartment and I yelled for him to run, causing him to promptly trip on the sidewalk and skin both of his knees. And I’m sure you can imagine how easy it was to comfort a tired, hurt, screaming toddler out on the sidewalk while holding a tired, angry, screaming baby in one arm. It’s amazing how one day you can feel like you’ve got it under control and you’re pretty sure your kids will turn out ok and then the next day, hour, or moment you can feel like the worst mother in the world.
But I don’t have the time to write about any of these things. I hear the keys jangling outside the door and at least one baby is crying. I think that was more like 11 minutes, not 15.