State of the Jay, venting edition
It's 1:39am as I start writing this, and I am not asleep. I am not asleep, and I really, really wish I was, but I don't know if it's spending days and weeks on and off taking cold medicine, or if it's because I can't shut my brain down, but it's 1:40am, and my brain's still whirring up a storm. So, while I hope that I get tired enough to sleep, I'm going to try and run my brain down, and hope that unloading some stress will actually let me sleep.
Please note... this is venting. This is feelings, and irrationality, and I know better, in my brain and my heart and my... whatever. But some days... some days it's really hard to let the rational voice in your head be the loud one.
I love my kids. I love my kids, and I love my husband, and one of the great blessings in my life is that I have an amazing, involved, hands on husband, who is a hands on dad, and loves it. And I don't take that for granted--believe me. I know that I'm lucky, and that a lot of people--a LOT of people--don't have that. And that's why I feel like an irrational bitch for venting, but 99% of the time, I can roll with it just fine, and that 1%, it just hurts, and I can't be rational.
The babies like him better. I mean, a lot better. I mean, if he's holding one, and I go to pick the other one up, a lot of the time they'll cling to him, and holler NO, and sob until Daddy's got a double armful of twin, neither one of which will come to me. Both my kids are daddy's kids. And it's adorable, and it's awesome, and it's wonderful, except for that one percent of the time where I just want to be able to pick up my baby and give them a cuddle, and they're squirming to get out of my arms because DADDY is there, and they want DADDY to pick them up.
God, this is so stupid. It is. I do have a rational brain. I do know that they're toddlers. They're barely toddlers. They're not even two. If one of them has a cup, and you offer the other one an identical cup, they will reject it utterly because they want the one that their sibling already has. They don't know that they're hurting my feelings. They're not doing it on purpose... well, a little. They're doing it on purpose in that way that kids push, and they test, and they figure out where the boundaries are... push buttons. But they're not doing it to upset or hurt me. They're not evil or maniacal.
But fucking God, it hurts sometimes. When one of the babies wakes up from a nightmare, and I try to comfort them, and they will almost shove themselves out of my arms to get to their Daddy. And it shouldn't be all about me, but at least for me, when you're a mom, and your little person is upset or hurting, there's an almost physical need to make it better. To be able to curl up with them, and rock them calm, and make it all right. And sometimes it's fine, and sometimes, they just... won't. Because they want it to be Daddy.
And I feel stupid that it bothers me. I feel petty and small and selfish. I feel bad because the AH shouldn't feel guilty that his children come to him when they're happy and they're sad and when they want a lap to sit on. And I try so, so hard not to let the babies see that it upsets me sometimes when they shove me away, or when they're trying to push into his lap at the same time, and when he suggests that one of them go sit with Mommy, they look at him like he's spent too long with his head in the diaper pail. "Nono. Nono, Daddy."
It's stupid because all those dumb things that people tell you start freaking you out, in the middle of the night. The story one of your coworkers told about how this one person they knew, they had to be hospitalized when their baby was an infant, and it completely affected the way that they bonded, and they were just never close, ever after that.
Wow. Thanks. I was in the hospital with them for 12 days when they were born, and much of their care was turned over to nurses, and out of my control. By day 3, their blood sugar was dangerously low, and they had to be tube fed. I was never able to nurse them primarily, although I pumped for five months and gave them every bit of breast milk I could produce. I had all four wisdom teeth out when I they were four months old, and was useless and drugged for over a week. I had my gallbladder out after a massive gallstone attack when they were five months old, and spent five days in hospital. I spent almost two months literally not being allowed to hold them, because my stomach muscles had been cut through, and if I damaged them, I'd be back in the hospital.
When they were eleven months old, we found out that the AH's taxes had been screwed up, and instead of getting a $2500.00 return, we had to pay out over $2000.00, leaving us almost $5000.00 in the hole for what we'd budgeted for the summer. I went back to work right around their first birthday, and I worked all summer, for just over minimum wage, working as a night auditor. I barely saw them, but there was rent to pay, and I wasn't eligible for EI anymore... my maternity leave was done, and my regular job wasn't starting up again until September.
And now my kids default to their dad just about all the time, and when it's two am, and I can't sleep, and I've spent a night trying to calm my son after a nightmare, and having him howl for his daddy (who's out getting groceries) and refuse to relax in my arms for almost half an hour because I'm not him... and those thoughts are just 'there'. Did I screw up my bond with my kids? Is this a phase, or is this how things are going to go with these two--am I always going to be the last person picked for the team?
I love my babies so, so much. I love that my husband is a good dad, and I love, love, love that they love him. I love the look on their faces when he walks into the room after a day of work. The light in their eyes, and the way they race over to him.
Am I such a bad, selfish person that sometimes, just sometimes, I'd like to have them do that for me too?
I'm probably going to be embarrassed tomorrow that I tossed all this down on the page, hit 'post', and walked away and went to bed. But it's 2:04 am now, and maybe, maybe with all of this out of my head, at least for a little while, maybe I can sleep.
Maybe.
Please note... this is venting. This is feelings, and irrationality, and I know better, in my brain and my heart and my... whatever. But some days... some days it's really hard to let the rational voice in your head be the loud one.
I love my kids. I love my kids, and I love my husband, and one of the great blessings in my life is that I have an amazing, involved, hands on husband, who is a hands on dad, and loves it. And I don't take that for granted--believe me. I know that I'm lucky, and that a lot of people--a LOT of people--don't have that. And that's why I feel like an irrational bitch for venting, but 99% of the time, I can roll with it just fine, and that 1%, it just hurts, and I can't be rational.
The babies like him better. I mean, a lot better. I mean, if he's holding one, and I go to pick the other one up, a lot of the time they'll cling to him, and holler NO, and sob until Daddy's got a double armful of twin, neither one of which will come to me. Both my kids are daddy's kids. And it's adorable, and it's awesome, and it's wonderful, except for that one percent of the time where I just want to be able to pick up my baby and give them a cuddle, and they're squirming to get out of my arms because DADDY is there, and they want DADDY to pick them up.
God, this is so stupid. It is. I do have a rational brain. I do know that they're toddlers. They're barely toddlers. They're not even two. If one of them has a cup, and you offer the other one an identical cup, they will reject it utterly because they want the one that their sibling already has. They don't know that they're hurting my feelings. They're not doing it on purpose... well, a little. They're doing it on purpose in that way that kids push, and they test, and they figure out where the boundaries are... push buttons. But they're not doing it to upset or hurt me. They're not evil or maniacal.
But fucking God, it hurts sometimes. When one of the babies wakes up from a nightmare, and I try to comfort them, and they will almost shove themselves out of my arms to get to their Daddy. And it shouldn't be all about me, but at least for me, when you're a mom, and your little person is upset or hurting, there's an almost physical need to make it better. To be able to curl up with them, and rock them calm, and make it all right. And sometimes it's fine, and sometimes, they just... won't. Because they want it to be Daddy.
And I feel stupid that it bothers me. I feel petty and small and selfish. I feel bad because the AH shouldn't feel guilty that his children come to him when they're happy and they're sad and when they want a lap to sit on. And I try so, so hard not to let the babies see that it upsets me sometimes when they shove me away, or when they're trying to push into his lap at the same time, and when he suggests that one of them go sit with Mommy, they look at him like he's spent too long with his head in the diaper pail. "Nono. Nono, Daddy."
It's stupid because all those dumb things that people tell you start freaking you out, in the middle of the night. The story one of your coworkers told about how this one person they knew, they had to be hospitalized when their baby was an infant, and it completely affected the way that they bonded, and they were just never close, ever after that.
Wow. Thanks. I was in the hospital with them for 12 days when they were born, and much of their care was turned over to nurses, and out of my control. By day 3, their blood sugar was dangerously low, and they had to be tube fed. I was never able to nurse them primarily, although I pumped for five months and gave them every bit of breast milk I could produce. I had all four wisdom teeth out when I they were four months old, and was useless and drugged for over a week. I had my gallbladder out after a massive gallstone attack when they were five months old, and spent five days in hospital. I spent almost two months literally not being allowed to hold them, because my stomach muscles had been cut through, and if I damaged them, I'd be back in the hospital.
When they were eleven months old, we found out that the AH's taxes had been screwed up, and instead of getting a $2500.00 return, we had to pay out over $2000.00, leaving us almost $5000.00 in the hole for what we'd budgeted for the summer. I went back to work right around their first birthday, and I worked all summer, for just over minimum wage, working as a night auditor. I barely saw them, but there was rent to pay, and I wasn't eligible for EI anymore... my maternity leave was done, and my regular job wasn't starting up again until September.
And now my kids default to their dad just about all the time, and when it's two am, and I can't sleep, and I've spent a night trying to calm my son after a nightmare, and having him howl for his daddy (who's out getting groceries) and refuse to relax in my arms for almost half an hour because I'm not him... and those thoughts are just 'there'. Did I screw up my bond with my kids? Is this a phase, or is this how things are going to go with these two--am I always going to be the last person picked for the team?
I love my babies so, so much. I love that my husband is a good dad, and I love, love, love that they love him. I love the look on their faces when he walks into the room after a day of work. The light in their eyes, and the way they race over to him.
Am I such a bad, selfish person that sometimes, just sometimes, I'd like to have them do that for me too?
I'm probably going to be embarrassed tomorrow that I tossed all this down on the page, hit 'post', and walked away and went to bed. But it's 2:04 am now, and maybe, maybe with all of this out of my head, at least for a little while, maybe I can sleep.
Maybe.