Some days in the life of a SAHM

Stay-at-home-mom

It’s the strangest job I’ve ever had.

All-encompassing, and yet I struggle to accept it as my primary identity. Was the start of my workday the 3 AM feeding? Or was it the 5:30 AM diaper change? Around 7, I got the baby dressed then carried her downstairs, plopped her into the high-chair and gave her some fruit, then left her with her dad, grandpa, and 2-year-old sister. Then I went back upstairs to get myself dressed, and then vacuumed the hall and stairs.

I struggled with what to do today. I sometimes miss the clear expectations of a regular job. Being a “good mom” is so abstract. Is it better to have the house slightly cleaner or to take those extra fifteen minutes of one-on-one time with the kids? Or should I use those spare moments to meditate or knit or read or write or draw or prepare some meaningful educational activity for the kids? Your guess is as good as mine.

One option for today was a meet-up group for homeschool families at a library. Another was a mom-baby outdoor playgroup at a farm. Both options are about a half hour drive. We just went to the zoo yesterday, which was an hour drive, so I really don’t feel like driving.

I have that surreal sleep-deprived feeling that is so common these days, which is not so conducive to driving safely.

With that in mind, I decided to stay home. We’d keep it simple and play outside in the yard, while I maybe played some ukulele. Honestly I just really wanted to play some ukulele and sing. The two-year-old didn’t want to change out of her nightgown anyways.

So I got the ukulele from upstairs, carried the baby in the other arm, and somehow managed to hold hands with the two-year-old as we walked outside barefoot. She climbed up her Little Tikes slide, then said, “Do I have a diaper on?” And then proceeded to pee all over it.

We hosed off the slide, then I hauled both kids back inside for a wardrobe change and mini-bath. Then back outside.

Right as we were starting to walk out, my dad turned on the automatic sprinkler system, and I discovered that my two-year-old is terrified of sprinklers. So we went back inside.

The sprinklers stopped, we got most of the way to the door, and then the baby pooped.

So I cleaned that up, grabbed some snacks to pre-empt the inevitable “I’m hungry,” grabbed my iPad so I could attempt to vent my thoughts, and here I am typing as quickly as I can with one hand, half-sitting on a chair because I’m holding my baby in my left arm while she breastfeeds and flails around, and the two-year-old is sitting behind me covering the rest of the chair in crumbs, and the battery is only at 7% so I’m going to leave it at this and finally

Finally

finally

Go play some ukulele while they play in the sandbox

For five minutes or so until it’s time to put the baby down for a nap.

Lord help me it’s only 10 AM.

And now it’s the next day and both kids are asleep in bed.

Without re-reading what I wrote yesterday, I cannot promise that what comes next will be perfectly relevant. I could take the time to read and edit it all carefully before continuing on here, but I feel an internal push to simply write more.

The heaviness I feel now is familiar. It is something like depression, but I can feel the evolution in myself in that I’m not currently seeking a reason for it beyond physical exhaustion. My old self would have attempted to blame a relationship or circumstance for the spontaneous sadness I feel when I look in the mirror. But I see a layer deeper and despite the tiredness and the irritability that tags along with that, I remain grateful for the blessings in my life. I am blessed beyond belief by my girls.

Earlier today while I was nursing the baby to sleep, the two-year-old asked me to open a marker for her. I opened it absentmindedly, handing it back to her. I enjoyed watching her scribble in her little notebook, explaining to me that she was writing a song called, “Part of Your World.” The lyrics were eerily similar to ones I’ve heard somewhere before.

The baby was fussing (Teething? Constipation? Simply fighting sleep?), but was so close to drifting off, when the two-year-old walked just out of my reach and began scribbling on her hands and slowly moved the marker closer to her face, making a little blue dot on her cheek. That’s when I noticed that it wasn’t one of her normal washable non-toxic markers. She had somehow gotten ahold of a permanent marker.

Thankfully she didn’t put up much resistance to giving up the marker, and went willingly to wash her hands, which she can typically do on her own now. The baby was finally asleep.

But then the toddler waddled in saying, “Pee pee on the stool! Pee pee on my pants,” in her cutest baby voice.

Sure enough, there was “pee pee” everywhere.

So I set the baby down in her crib, which woke her up. She wailed as I changed her sister into clean clothes and quickly cleaned up the worst of the pee mess.

As I write this, I feel a bit of mom-guilt, wondering if I should have prioritized comforting the baby over cleaning the floor. But not cleaning the floor could have turned into the toddler playing in the puddle, not that I need to justify my decisions. I would like to stop questioning my own decision-making at every turn. A day with multiple kids involves relentless micro-decisions. Clean this now or after bedtime? Help who first? Give a snack while cooking a meal and risk them not eating the meal?

And it feels almost worse when I have time to myself. How should I spend my precious moments alone? Sleep? Read? Exercise? Work? But I am capable of learning how to manage it all better.

I am capable of improving myself.

I can learn how to handle it all better.

We’ve already developed a pretty stellar system for keeping everything decently clean. I’m not so overwhelmed by the physical management of the house anymore.

And I’m gradually learning how to take more time for myself.

Getting more sleep should be higher on my priority list.

I bet with more sleep, other problems would be much easier to solve and the wild nonsense of the day would feel more manageable.

Perhaps I need to commit to writing more too. It’s therapeutic even if I don’t publish it, but maybe I will.

Ramblings can be collected and reorganized.

I can always take what works and leave what doesn’t.

I’ve been practicing that with everything in life lately. When I read, hear, or see something, I try to do so consciously searching for what rings true to me and apply it to my life. I am finding myself surprised by how many lessons are presenting themselves to me in every day life.

It’s another day now. Nearly lunch time on a Saturday. My husband is reading a book to our toddler and the baby is napping in her crib for the longest time in her life so far. I managed to mop the bathrooms and change the bed sheets, and she is still sleeping, so I’ll try to write a bit now.

Yesterday my older daughter cupped my face in her tiny hands, pressed her forehead to mine, and whispered, “Mama, you’re my favorite.”

I just want to remember that forever, so writing it here.

This morning I felt a bit of dread, like every day is so monotonous. But perhaps I need to shift my perspective and try to focus on the slight variations and the bigger picture. Yesterday I washed the towels, and last week my baby learned how to clap. Today I washed the rugs and she took steps while holding my hands. Tomorrow maybe I’ll skip doing laundry because it will be Father’s Day, but every day involves floor cleaning, though the messes are slightly different every day. Today there was flour on the floor from allowing my daughter to help make bread dough. And eggs and broccoli from breakfast. Yesterday the floor was covered in pattern blocks and bits of salmon and polenta. Mysterious bits of gooey fruit. Playdough, moon sand. Toys, socks, hair ties. The sand mandala of our lives, wiped clean multiple times a day, only to be newly anointed by the reality of childhood. And in a few years — who knows? Maybe the floors will be clean sometimes for an entire day.

A few weeks ago, I got back into my typical reading of multiple books at the same time. I felt stagnant before that, struggling to just get through every day. Watching my babies grow and seeing how slow and incremental it is, reminded me that it also takes time for me to grow and develop. I am reminded that I can improve my abilities and my perception and my responses. My writing skills feel deteriorated from the sleep deprivation and breast-feeding brain fog, but I shouldn’t allow that to stop me from trying. The purpose is not to generate my highest quality work, the purpose is to practice and release my thoughts. It calms my mind to get these thoughts out, regardless of their inanity.

These ramblings are long enough now. The baby will surely wake up soon.

I am learning how to work with my spare moments. I will get better at that too.