Alright. I know nobody said it was going to be easy. Well, maybe a few people said it would be a "piece of cake", but I've decided those people were either stupid or really jonesin' for cake. I'm relapsing. Back into that person I barely strangled out of my body back when Sam was just a few weeks old and I was crying every day and asking myself how the hell am I going to do this again tomorrow. I have my hypotheses about what's causing this revert back to sub-par mothering, but it's all minutia and boring.
The crying. The whining. The in-between whining and crying noises. It's maddening and with each syllable of every noise a piece of my maternal confidence crumbles. I know it's not me. But it sure seems like it is. I know that babies cry. Babies are unhappy and confused by their new environment and would sometimes like to just crawl back up into the womb for some warm, wet comfortable fetal meditation. If I could oblige, I would. I really, really would.
Sometimes I am weak. I look at him and apologize for not knowing what he wants. I cry and then he smiles at me as if he finally has what he wants. Me. In pieces. And don't everyone comment at once about how babies are incapable of manipulation. I know this. It doesn't mean that his timing isn't impeccably ironic. And when you're a puddle of mom-goo your brain is unqualified to make accurate observations about your certain scenarios. Like. All of them.
Things are pretty much the same. What's changed is my coping skills. Actually, coping mechanism. The addition of. I drank a cup of coffee today. I know. I am a sucky mom blah blah blah. Sam is probably all hopped up on some Starbucks right now and I'm being passed over for mom of the year. Truth is, I don't care what anyone thinks on the subject. I like coffee. And while some super-conservative types may equate a cup of coffee to a hit off of the crack pipe, I'm soooo over the guilt.
So. This time yesterday I was grinding my teeth and doing some worthless Lamaze breathing to get me through until dance class where I was pleased to hand off the baby to my dance mom friends to pass around and coo over. This time yesterday I hadn't showered, applied makeup or deodorant for that matter, and I had paced a rut in the backyard grass (and the bedroom carpet and the living room laminate and the tile in the kitchen....et al).
You get the point. But today I'm good. Thanks to my coffee pot. And a half-calf coffee bean blend from Starbucks. So suck-it all you perfect mom types who only drink water and carrot juice all day so you can brag about your babies' brain development at play dates. Maybe you don't need chemical stimulation to get through the trials and turbulence of raising an infant, BUT I DO.
Anyway. Coffee is not a drug. It's a vitamin.