So here goes again...
I gave birth.
Almost 11 weeks ago.
(really need to change my blog profile pic)
Baby Beckett is currently blessing me with smiles and coos, almost full nights of sleep (not holding my breath that will last), and good eating habits that have equalled nice growth patterns.
But sometimes I still need to remind myself I'm not pregnant anymore.
Like tonight, I was making supper as part of our hectic evening. I start serving seasoned ground beef over fresh spinach and topped with salsa. I hand the first plate to a kid. He promptly begins to make a fuss about how I put his meat ON his spinach. So I trade that plate for an unfilled one and give the offending plate to another child. This time I separate the meat and spinach and put the salsa on the meat. Oops! I am in trouble again. He wants the salsa ON the spinach but NOT the meat. Another trade. Gonna get it right, hopefully before we run out of plates. One juggling motion too many and a plate hit the floor face-down. There is salsa, spinach, and hamburger splattered all over and a broken plate. And in comes my daughter to complain HER food wasn't arranged properly either. It was like my life had hit the floor with that plate. I am steaming at this point.
"Just eat your food the way I serve it for once. If you would have made your way to the table with your plate when I first served it this would not have happened! This is a lot of food to be wasted! Now go eat, please!"
Clean. Clean. Clean
Fume. Fume. Fume.
"What!? How many times do I have to tell you not to take your brother out of his swing without asking?! I don't care if you think he has been sleeping long enough or if you saw him wiggle so he must want held! Now he is woke up and all upset so I can't even eat before we leave for the PTO meeting! I am sick and tired of you not listening to me! How am I supposed to manage everything when your daddy is gone this week if no one listens to me?! It is like I am talking to the wind around here! All I do is clean up messes and no one is even thankful. We are not doing this anymore! There are orphans in Africa who would love their meat on their salad and would always clean up after themselves for the privilege to live in a nice house like this!"
My son's face is blank. He has no idea how we got from a spilled plate and a crying baby to orphans in Africa. I'm not sure either. I guess it was probably underlying stress about getting out the door to PTO, Mr. Loggerhead being away, and a messy house that was clean only a day ago. The dropped plate and the bothered baby just turned up the heat under a boiling pot and over the edge we went. A few cool-down minutes later, as I sat nursing the baby and scarfing down my supper at the same time, I recall my son's expression of sheer confusion mixed with panic. I have seen it before. It has been worn by my dear husband a time or two. During pregnancy I have sometimes gone from clothes left on the floor to World Peace in about 3.0 seconds. It's a hormone thing, OK? Hello, Pregzilla!
But I'm not pregnant anymore.
I have no such excuse, right?
No hormone roller-coaster to blame this kind of thing on.
No cravings to which to attribute crazy eating habits.
No growing unborn-baby to reason away the belly bulge.
No energy-drain to name suspect for wanting more sleep.
So what is a girl to do?
That's a good start.
Then introduce the fresh line-up of culprits to your confused family:
Night-time feedings ('cause I'm sure they will be back)
From when I was still pregnant:
Pictures of my parents as children in the corner.
Like a time warp.
Prayers for the unborn child
This man puts up with a lot, when I am pregnant or not.
And these children are watching and listening all the time.
Tonight, long after the mess was cleaned up, the baby soothed, the meeting attended, the husband talked to, and the children of Africa prayed for, I was contemplating my explosion.
The final line of my son's recent book report on Where The Wild Things Are came to mind.
"I learned that we should try to say what we really mean and always use kind words."
So next time, "I am really worried we aren't going to get out the door to an important meeting, can you please help me? I miss daddy and I bet you do too. It stresses me out a lot when things aren't organized and cleaned up, what can we do to fix that?" might be a better choice for the occasion and we can save the children of Africa speech for a more appropriate time...
Like next time I'm pregnant.
Happy Tuesday, y'all!
P.S. Maternity photo credits go to my little sister Katie. She is only a sophomore but her photography knocks my socks off. Thank you, Katie!