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I am sure you’ve heard the funny saying, “This is why we can’t have nice things” by now. It is all over funny memes and used pretty often in conversations between awesome people. I honestly don’t know where it came from, (I could Google it, but I don’t want to.) or how it got to be a “thing,” but I use it often and love it.
I know exactly why I can’t have nice things, and it has a little something to do with my two messy, rambunctious children; so instead I have decided to write a list of reasons that I can’t be sane. Why I repeat my stories, sometimes within the same hour. Why I forget what I’m doing, in the middle of doing it. Why I never know what day it is, where my shoes are or how much gas is in my van. Why I continually question whether I am doing a decent job raising these boys that I love so fiercely. These are also many of the reasons that I can’t seem to find twenty minutes to write a blog post more than once a month. So, This Is Why I’m Crazy:
- My children alternate sleeping. One child falls asleep. The other child falls asleep. I get a warm (or cold) drink, I sit down, I exhale… the first child wakes up crying. Repeat. All night.
- One of my children is covered in poop. Or pee. Always.
- Truman is holding something messy, or breakable, or sharp, or dangerous and is seconds away from sprinting across the house with it.
- My husband can’t find the ______ he is looking for. (Insert every single thing he is ever looking for.)
- The lady in front of me in the left turn lane is texting… through two green lights.
- I am reading yet another news story about some hideous whore of a
motherwoman who has killed her child.
- I decided to look into the harmful effects of _____ (insert anything you can imagine that we encounter on a daily basis) and now I can’t stop researching and worrying.
- Grant is eating something… from some secret reservoir inside of the carpet. Again.
- The holidays are coming, as well as ALL of the birthdays. My schedule looks like this from October to December: Niece’s birthday, Niece’s birthday, Auntie’s birthday, Halloween, Niece’s birthday, Auntie’s birthday, Grant’s birthday, GG’s birthday, Mom’s birthday, Thanksgiving, Truman’s birthday, Niece’s birthday, Christmas. There are parties and dinners and travel required.
- Grant is learning that he has a choice in his behavior. He can smile and peacefully go along with something or he can completely freak out about something minor, (like losing sight of a green plastic cup) stiffen his entire body out while smashing my nose with a backward head butt. He prefers the latter.
- My patient doesn’t know what is wrong with her glasses, how to describe the problem, or how I can help… but something is definitely wrong and I need to fix it. Now.
- I have wasted ten ounces of precious, liquid-gold breast milk in three days time. Five ounces forgotten in my bag overnight and another five ounces dumped all over the break room floor. It hurts my heart.
- I am still not unpacked.
- I still don’t have anything hanging on my walls.
- I continually convince myself that I am pregnant. (I am NOT. Settle down Mom.)
- I bring the tote of larger sized baby clothes for Grant up the stairs from the basement. I wash it all, I hang it all, I try to put an outfit on him and realize that he has somehow outgrown the clothes already. I put all the clothes back in a tote and take it back to the basement. Repeat. #elevenmonthsoldwearingsizeeighteenmonths #whathappenedtosizetwelvemonths
- I cannot, absolutely cannot, find an extra five minutes to shave my legs. They are awful. Thank God for fall and winter in Michigan because I probably won’t really need to worry about this for another eight months. Unless I visit the gynecologist… oh, what if I get pregnant…(see #15.)
- I want to make everything I find on Pinterest. The choice to do so would mean quitting my job. Or quitting sleep. Something’s gotta give.
- I continuously have to bite my tongue while scrolling through Facebook stupidity. My tongue is sore.
- On paper we should have a whole hell of a lot more money then we have… Oh wait, I forgot to account for food. And gas. And diapers. And… nevermind, we are not supposed to have any extra money after all. In fact, I do not know how we are still alive.
- My patients do not know the difference between “stigma” and “astigmatism.”
- My husband asks me to trade five minute backrubs at the exact second between the time I sit down after laying a sleeping child in his bed, and before I exhale. (See #1) I angrily growl NO, even though a five minute backrub sounds delightful. I really just want to have ten seconds when no one is touching me.
- Truman looks me right in the eye and tells me he wants to pee on the potty and never in his pants. That he knows that poop and pee go in the toilet and that he loves big boy underwear. Then he pees in his pants and says, “It’s pee pee!” with glee.
- Grant is repeating every word we say which leads me to believe he will speak in full, intelligent and sassy sentences even sooner than his brother did. That means, I will be losing arguments with two of them very shortly.
- I want to lose weight, I want to eat only whole foods, I want to refurbish furniture, I want to meal plan, I want to can fruits and vegetables, I want to update the kids’ baby books, I want to paint my two pregnant-belly casts, I want to organize the basement, I want to streamline my wardrobe, I want to have a date with my husband, I want to decorate for fall, I want to write up a detailed budget, I want to write a fiction novel, I want to mentor, I want to learn new skills, I want to volunteer, I want to buy all new makeup, I want to crochet a huge amount of stuff and sell it. I want to have time to do even one of these things.
And this is why I’m crazy.