Sisyphus, the poor sap from Greek mythology, is condemned to push a rock up a mountain, almost to the top and watch it roll back down again. Day after day after day.
This repetitive exercise in futility is not anything new to the average mom. This is what I do. Every. Damn. Day.:
Clean and cook and cut food. Place nicely on highchair tray. Watch as food gets mashed between Z's hands, dropped on Sweet Dog's head, wiped all over the tray, thrown on the floor and sometimes, put in her mouth. Repeat three times a day.
Clean highchair tray. Wash dishes. Take apart sippy cups and wash each part by hand. Repeat at least three times a day.
Follow and guide and try in vain to tidy as Z walks around the house and yard putting things in her mouth, pulling things off shelves and finding the sharp edges and dangerous materials that lurk behind every corner.
Prepare to leave for an errand/playdate/appointment. Gather a snack, a water-filled sippy cup, backup pacifier, toys, stocked diaper bag, my purse, my water and -oh yeah! -my wiggling baby. Try to carry it all at once to the car and fail miserably. Repeat several times a day.
Change pee diapers, happily and quickly, singing "Old MacDonald" to keep the native from getting restless. Repeat endless times a day.
Change poo diapers, using one hand to hold both ankles with Vulcan Death Grip, the other hand to use way too many wipes, and my handy, flexible upper lip to seal off my nostrils from the noxious fumes. Sing "Little miss Z made a poo. E I E I O. And in this poo there was some... doo. E I E I O". Repeat too many times a day.
Prepare for Z to sleep. Check diaper, turn on the optimistically-named "sound sleeper" sound machine, read a book or two. Place Z down in crib with a blanket, pacifier and her Nellie. Walk out and hope for the best. Repeat 3 times a day.
Spend first half of Z's nap staring at pictures of her online and writing about her. Then, exploding into a fit of nap anxiety, run around the house in headless chicken mode trying to clean, make phone calls, exercise, deal with mail, and rotate the endless loop of laundry until the noises from the monitor become impossible to ignore.
Listen at the door as Z cries after being put down for the night. Try to decipher the type of cry and what REM state she is in. Bite my lip. Feel like a bad mom for not rushing in right away. Pray for silence. Ask Chic Geek whether we should go in. Wish for the 1,000th time that we bought that video monitor that seemed so silly before she was born.
Watch as Sweet Dog obediently walks into her crate at night and exclaim at what a good dog she is. Collapse into bed. Kiss Chic Geek and agree with him that we are incredibly, ridiculously, disgustingly lucky.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
1 comment:
Oh I so so so relate.
Many days it's just like the movie Groundhog day (of course filled with immeasurable joy) but i wake up and think about the things that will be washed multiple times throughout that day, the bibs, the high chair tray that may just dissolve it's been washed so many times, the clothes, the face, the hands, the entire baby, the floor around the high chair, the dishes, etc.. A day full of clean, dirty, clean, dirty, clean, dirty, clean...........
Post a Comment