Pictures are Deceiving

By the pictures, we had a wonderful weekend away.

There were blue skies and a sparkling lake.

Matt was able to show the girls how daddy rode up the worst road known to man.

They touched his brick for the effort in last years Savageman.

BUT

What the pictures don't show is the fact that Clare was on another tear again this weekend. The three hour drive from Baltimore to Deep Creek alone had us rethinking our weekend plans. By the time early evening rolled around, I was using my phone to see if I could rent a car to drive back home with the girls that very night.

What there are no pictures of is the fact that I was walking, seething with rage over temper-tantrums, small town rental car hours and slow 3G connections on my iPhone, and playing with my phone instead of looking where I was going. Or that I am a clutz and I always look down while walking on uneven terrain.

There are no pictures of my fall down a few rustic, nature preserve stairs, when I insisted I was fine to finish the walk down to Matt's bike drop off, or when my vision went white and I was .this.close. to fainting so I made Matt move road blocks to come pick me up in the car.

There could be pictures of the fact that my right foot is still swollen to about double it's normal size and turning the most delightful shades of purple, black and blue, but it is so grotesque, I will spare you that visual.

There are no pictures of the fact that it meant that I couldn't attend the triathlon the we had driven 3 hours to watch and cheer at. That attitudes did not improve, adults included, in our 2.5 days away.

Honestly, the best part of the weekend? The drive home.

We are headed to Chicago tomorrow. Wish us luck, and maybe send a prayer or two our way.

Moments

Friday I had a plan. It was a five-days-in-the-making rant about how I'm either a horrible mother or Gracie is a horrible two year old or that we are somehow equal in our terribleness and not fit to call each other by our titles: mother and daughter.

It had been a rough week filled with tears (on both ends) and temper tantrums (on both ends). My whole hearted attempts to follow Matt's sage advice failed. To just slow down to her pace and if things take longer, then so be it. I was trying so hard, except nothing was changing except the fact that we were now adding over an hour onto our days. Which meant we ate a lot of frozen pizza for dinner last week.

But instead of writing a much more in depth account of the happenings of the week Friday morning, I mothered: I cleaned up puke and I changed more liquid diapers than should be allowed.

It is funny what a grounding and centering thing caring for a truly sick child is. I would take her pain and discomfort upon myself 100 times over to spare her the slightest pain, but it is in those pretense free moments at 3am that your remember your calling. And that she does indeed need you, wrapped in your arms in a search for comfort.

Then 24 hours later after doses of Tylenol, kiddie Pepto-Bismo and dozens of freeze pops with only 1/4 eaten before melting, she is fine. Happy. Giddy over the prospect of riding with daddy on the big choo choo train from Baltimore to DC for their 36 hour date.

And I am left to reflect on her new found health as I am curled into a ball, clutching my own stomach for a new 24 hour period and wondering how I am going to keep down food that I know her little sister needs me to eat.

Such is the life of a parent. Such is the life of a mother. And every moment is worth it.

Miscellany

I’m here. I’ve alive. Barely. Things have been, busy.

Opportunity is a funny thing.

Remember this rant? At least part of it null. I moved into a new job this week. And it turns out it was MY fault that it took so long.

Oh well, c'est la vie…. I still stand by the rest of that post though.

On day 4 of this new position though, I keep wondering if I’ve made the right decision. Matt is going to smack me for writing this, especially with all the work he has done to help me get here and stay here, but this job is…. Hard. I know, I know- every new job is hard. At least any job that is worth having. I was just so used to easy.

And it feels like my belly has grown an inch a day this week. I know she can feel my stress and at 5 ½ months my belly has turned into a hard ball of movement. Suddenly, I have gone from looking chubbier than usual to looking pregnant. When I sit, my boobs are almost resting on my belly already. I have to pee every time I move. Every. Freaking. Time.

And I am so tired.

I remember my pregnancy with Gracie as blissful once I got past the 1st trimester sickness stage and before I got to the 3rd trimester oh-my-god-my-belly-is-an-overripe-watermelon- waiting-to-burst stage. This time, not so much. Before I could concentrate on me; sleep 14 hours if I so choose; lay on the couch only to leave for more chocolate. Now I am dealing with the irrational daily tantrums of a 2 year old and her new obsession with Sesame Street.

Which brings me to my third rant, because Sesame Street is making diaper changing the bain of my existence because the freaking Pampers have Sesame Street characters on them. But does Gracie want Elmo who graces 2/3 of the package? Noooooo…. she wants Ernie. Ernie who is on one 1 out of every 10. Ernie who’s name she didn’t even know until I explained that he was the one who sings the Rubber Ducky song. And she wants to look at every diaper in the package of 88 before selecting the one she deems worthy for her bottom.

The synopsis of all this?

I have a new job. I am exhausted. I hate Sesame Street. And my blogging may be sporadic over the next few weeks. Please forgive me.
And if your child refuses to wear their size 5 Ernie's let me know and maybe we can work out an exchange.