R. A. N. T.

I will preface this tirade by saying that I got up 8 times last night.  Eight.  I collapsed into bed at 10:15.  Fell dead asleep immediately.  Up at 10:30 to feed the baby.  Put her back at 11.  (had I known it was 10:30 when she awoke I would’ve let her cry and she would’ve most likely gone back to sleep until a more appropriate wake up time say 1:00).  So then she got up anyway at 1. Fucking brutal.  Put her back at 2.  UP AGAIN AT 3.  Put her back shortly after.  UP AGAIN AT 5.  Can’t remember if I put her back again but I know she was up up at 6.

Then my just-turned-six-year-old son, who I will refer to hereafter as Legoboy, comes into my room while I am dozing next to a wiggly, spit-up spewing baby, and demands to know why he doesn’t have the right size underwear in his drawer.  Top of the fucking morning to me.

Now I am no optimistic, rose-colored glasses wearing type of girl anyway so on a day like this I pretty much think, as I am dragging my pathetically exhausted ass out of my cozy bed, “I hate this fucking day already.”

Time to get my son ready for school.  THANK GOD he goes with my neighbor on Thursday and Friday.  THANK GOD.  So I only have to get him breakfast and a nut-fucking-free healthy snack, his backpack, sweatshirt found, shoes found, teeth brushed and out the door at 7:45 sharp.  Monday thru Wednesday, I’d have to get all three of them breakfast, three of them dressed, two nut-free lunches, appropriate outerwear, teeth brushed, shoes found and put on, baby changed when she craps up to her neck with 2 minutes til departure time, all by 7:45.

Feeding them breakfast includes lots of super-whiny-voice bullshit like, “that bowl looks too small, it looks bigger with cereal in it, I don’t want that bowl (to this I want to say, “WELL THEN PUT SOME FUCKING CEREAL IN IT.  AHHHHHHHHHHHHH.)

And “where are my merrells?  I want my merrells.”  How ‘bout you go find your goddman merrells?  They are your shoes after all.  (later the merrells are discovered outside, soaking wet, AGAIN. )  Now they will feel too small, god forbid, because the leather contracts when they get soaking-friggin’ wet.  You don’t want to be around my house when legoboy’s BRAND-FREAKIN-NEW shoes are declared, by him in a whiny-ass voice, to be outgrown.

Anyway then there are socks that feel lumpy, syrup that doesn’t cover enough of curious george on the plate, orange juice that legoboy suddenly doesn’t like after drinking every day for the last four years of his life, a baby that is fussing before we even get started with this process, the library books that have vanished into thin air, the Ridiculous get-up (oh my god I said “get up” I am becoming my mother) that three-year-old monstergirl insists on wearing, the two stupid ass sippy cups that she wants to bring in the car and then will want me to open after we pull out and I will say no and she will summon all the forces of hades in a tantrum while I curse sometimes not so quietly all the way through the crawling traffic to school.  By 8 a.m.

The most truly and completely shocking thing about all of this is that I have to deal with all of this, on a hideous excuse for a night’s sleep, WITH NO COFFEE.  Yes you heard me.  no coffee.  No beautiful foamy fuzzy latte, waiting for me on the counter, that I want to shrink myself up and float around in.  nope.  That’s because I am OFF DAIRY.  I haven’t had a latte since sometime in freakin’ july.  A newborn with no latte.  No sleep.  With no latte.  I cant even think about it anymore.

Oh yeah and I wouldn’t have time to drink it really anyway.  But damn those first sips are the best anyway even though I am standing at my post in command ccntral, the kitchen, saying things like, “Bud you need to put those shoes on right now or I this time I really am going to take all my clothes off and run screaming around the house.”

Ahh the morning routine.  Welcome to the hellish world of having school age children.  It does not mix well at all with having a baby.  Adding the baby in the mix goes like this, schedule-wise, walk legoboy in to school by 8, load monstergirl(she needs a better name here, not that that one doesn’t aptly describe her) and baby back in car, take monstergirl to early care at preschool by 8:30 ( I feel super guilty about this but otherwise I have to kill time until her 9 a.m. start of school), and try to get home before baby falls asleep in the car (she ALWAYS does anyway), sleeps for the 10 minute drive home and then REFUSE take a nap because her clock has been reset and now she’ll be spending the morning with me, yippee.  She’ll be really good and tired just in time to have to wake her teeny butt up to go pick up monster at 1:00.

That’s just a little slice of the fun I have everyday.  I could go on for hours.  Before I take leave of the subject let me say this, “what the fucking hell am I supposed to eat for breakfast (in 5 minutes or less standing at the kitchen counter) that doesn’t involve a dairy product?”  My favorites, which I long for with every fiber of my being include a simple friggin’ bowl of cheerios with cold milk, kefir (a delicious yogurt smoothie that easily counts as breakfast), bagel and cream cheese, yogurt with granola.  Nope.  Nope.  And nope.  Sad.  Even a simple cup of earl grey or chai tea (see above rant about my lattes) isn’t right without milk in it.  Don’t get me started on soy milk or rice milk.  Blech.  It looks like an oil spill on top of my tea.  Tastes horrible.  Yuck.  Goat milk would be lovely.  No can do.

I’ll spare you my rant about lunch and dinner without dairy.  Oh yeah and dessert.  (shudder)  it’s bleak, I’ll tell you.  The entire world of comfort food is closed to me.  When I need it most.  Newborn, nursing, pumping, managing two older kids, nursing, pumping, not sleeping, trying not to say to many things that I INSTANTLY torture myself about having said, nursing, pumping, not sleeping, trying hard not to strangle my daughter when she throws her thrice daily EPOCH tantrums, getting spit-up on 20 times a day to the point where I feel like a defeated, helpess, walking barf rag, not sleeping.

Hey it’s a wonder I’m doing this well!  And it’s only 9:30 a.m.

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~ by complicatedmama on October 25, 2007.

10 Responses to “R. A. N. T.”

  1. wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!

    Seriously, though, I think I just had a mini panic attack on your behalf. Or maybe on my behalf.

  2. Everyone always bemoans our having a teenager and a baby but the 16 year age difference is a total cinch. Sorry you are so crazed. I don’t know how life would be possible without dairy.

    And yes, I adore Ann LaMott – her books changed my life, especially the writing one, Bird by Bird.

  3. I MISSED you in blogland, so glad you are writing again. You know how I adore you. But, where are the letters? Maybe I’ll write some too. Hmmm.

  4. funny, i had a therapist years ago who told me to read bird by bird. its the only one of anne lamott’s books that i HAVENT read. but i have it in my bedside table where its been for years. i think i’ll read it soon. her memoirs, especially the addiction stuff, helped me win a few rounds in my own battle against the substances.

  5. Holy shit, that is intense. YOU are very intense for doing all this and not killing anyone. If I were you I would have already done something…very bad and illegal. All hail WTF, and anyone with numerous small children. You have my serious respect.

  6. Oh, wait, complicatedmama, I guess, not WTF.

  7. Hi complicatedmama, I’ve been lurking around following you for sometime and I wanted to say “Hi!” and “Yeah, that sucks, I feel your pain.” You’re awesome and I’m glad as hell that you started another blog.

    I hope that you don’t mind, I couldn’t find your email address where I’d normally go to ask you if it was all right with you if I linked to your blog. So I have done so, but if you’d like, I’ll take it down. The screaming baby in front of me has used up all of my brain cells and yeah, I have no idea what I’m saying.

  8. man i am in some serious awe of you!!! ..i remember those effing days of young kids and me jusy wanting to bang my head all over with a milk allergic child and 2 other young ones.. still do just now they are older and more whiner…I stand tall and salute you for doing a wonderful job howeverb exsauating and hellish it can be..HUGS YOU!!!!!!!

  9. I’m here…and I brought a blog warming present heehhe

  10. Hi Complicated Mama,
    Avid reader of your former blog. Checked back the other day and was thrilled to see that you have a new blog. Love your writing and the painfully real peak into parenting. I really like the subtitle.

    While I would never qualify for membership to the edgy, dark parenting club (I enjoy edgy and dark but I’m missing something in my personality to actually *be* edgy and dark), I too would like to find more such parenting blogs. For some reason, I feel so much better after a morning of wrestling my toddler into her diaper (I mean, seriously, if she would let me just put the diaper on it would take about 30 seconds and she would be back to playing. Throw in the need to forcibly wrestle her into her diaper and it takes 10 minutes. And it makes me want to scream at her.) when I can read other women’s accounts of the related trials and tribulations.

    Enough rambling, Keep writing CM, I missed you.

    PS- Don’t bother visiting my blog. It’s all sunshine and rainbows and disgusts even me sometimes, but it’s really for the out-of-town grandparents to keep up with the diaper-hater.

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