Not quite what I had in mind

I am counting down the days until Thursday when Michael will resume going to school three days a week and everyone can get a break from each other. I was getting precious little down-time before and now I'm not getting any. I decided to try and sneak out after Alex was asleep the other night and I got a call not twenty minutes after I left the house that he was awake and screaming. I've been snapping at the husband and then there's that whole insecure misreading everything he does as some sort of expression of anger or frustration towards me or my actions thing that is just oh so productive. Seriously - everyone needs a break from each other (well almost - Alex apparently can't get enough of me). I'm hoping that when we have the structure of school three mornings a week it will settle down a little bit.

I know this won't last forever, but it's really kicking my ass right now. Everyone needs so much from me and the strain is really starting to show because there is no respite for me. I think one of the hardest things to deal with is that I now have to bring Alex with me to my therapy appointments - which means I am paying my therapist $25 bucks to coo at my child while I juggle him so he doesn't flip out all while the things I really need to talk about with her are forgotten until after I leave. Frankly, I am strongly considering postponing them until October when John will be off every other Thursday and I can wing not bringing Alex with me to a daytime appointment.

I'd never agree with something as trite (and not a little smug in my opinion) as that treacle sentiment of "You'll miss these days when they are older," but what I will admit is that there are little bits of both of their growing up that I am currently missing because of how hard everything is right now. The, "You'll miss these days," sentiment is very dismissive to just how much energy is required to parent a child - it's boils childhood down to toothless smiles and belly laughs with no acknowledgement of frequent night wakings, colic or whining. Mothers are sold a bill of goods and all of us drink that kool aid at least for a little while. Where's my Hallmark card for changing my clothes for the third time in a day because the baby has spit up on them, or the one for preschooler having a screaming melt-down because the seat he wants to sit in on the subway is occupied?

I'm going to stop now because there is something that I want to really write about the bill of goods we are sold as mothers and it's very important to me - just right now my brain is mush and I really should be in bed, so I'm actually going to take that advice and go to sleep.

'Night all, more incoherent ranting to come...