I am completely paralyzed right now. Not answering the phone. Not answering emails. Not opening my mouth when spoken to. Not accepting cat cuddles (you know it’s bad when…).

I was THIS CLOSE — THIS CLOSE — to calling my boss from FOUR YEARS ago to ask for a job. THIS CLOSE. My day was THAT BAD.

Whine alert. Prepare for serious whinage. (And I’d dress that up with repeated LARGE CAPS and exclamation points as I usually do with everything, but this is not that kind of post. No, this is me FAREAKING OUT inside RIGHT NOW as Rascal breaks out into WAILS again. AGGGGAAAAIIIIINNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHH!!! SLEEEEEP!

That felt good. Actually it didn’t. I was just too paralyzed to lift my fingers off the keys. And, part of me was kind of hoping emoting in words would feel good and help get me out of this funk, even as I sit here with a totally blank expressionless face. But, it didn’t make me feel good because I am, indeed, paralyzed on the inside, and on the outside because fat Tigger is perched on my lap. At least she’s warm.

{gratuitous picture of said fat cat would normally be posted here, but can’t because numb inside, and going increasingly numb outside — legs! Here’s a picture….}

In her case the camera actually subtracts 10 pounds. She’s a total raccoon.

Anyway, I’m on virtually no sleep for, like, the second day in a row because Rascal’s decided he enjoys wreaking havoc and making a misery of my life. Because this IS my life we’re talking about. And, it’s two against one. Two little monkeys decide my fate every day. It shouldn’t be like that, but it is. THEY have a bad day? I have a bad day. They have good day? In some cases, I STILL have a bad day.

Some of today’s mantras for you:

“MOMMY HAS THE RIGHT TO EXERCISE”;

“SO GO PEE”;

“YOU CAN DO IT YOURSELF”;

“NO, RASCAL”;

“RASCAL, PLEASE DON’T THROUGH YOUR FOOD ON THE FLOOR.”

And, how ’bout this one? It’s my favourite:

“F———CK!”

Only I didn’t say it out loud. Which is a good thing because I did say “Oh, SH-T” in front of the Monkey today, and she was — vocally — very excited about her new word. Sigh.

Stay-at-home parenting is mind-numbing. It’s frustrating. It’s depressing. It’s isolating. It’s HARD. No, it’s REALLY HARD. So, I go to Josh, at the dinner table this evening, “I can’t do it. I just can’t do it anymore. I’m going to look for a job.” And, then I look at Rascal, and his rosy red cheeks (red from pooping and, it seems, teething), and I don’t want to leave him. It’s just a bad day. A really bad day. And, I am allowed my share of those.

It would be awesome to go back to work. I’m losing weight just thinking about it. But, a few thoughts go through my mind when I consider it:

“If I can’t handle staying at home with my own kids, how can I hire someone else to do it?”;

“The thought of someone else taking care of my kids makes me cry (more than I’m crying right now)”;

“Rascal wants ME, deserves ME — who am I to take that away from him because I’m having a wee emotional breakdown right now, which (c’mon we all know) is probably completely HORMONAL?”

“I am a lousy nine-to-fiver. What makes me think going to work won’t make me way more depressed than I am now.”

Because, really, I am happy. I’m just hormonal and sleep-deprived and in total sugar and Starbucks withdrawals…. If he sleeps tonight, I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine I’ll be fine I’ll be fine.

I just love them. So much. That sometimes I hate myself. Because I’m not perfect. Because my best isn’t good enough. And, because I’m way overdue for some extended me-time.

I’m way overdue for some extended me-time.

I was THIS CLOSE to quitting this stay-at-home gig. But, just…. Just listen to this…. (Enjoy…!)

Blank

Even after a day like today, I could listen to that over and over (well…).

So, I’m sticking to it. I just have to make it better tomorrow. After all, red IS the colour of a Valentine. MWAH! (Did you hear the kiss in the vid? Oy…!)

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