Sweet and Sour

So writing basically doesn't happen now. There is literally always something else to do, some one else to hold, another chore to be done. Someone is always crying and I am always exhausted.

I've thought about fifty million things I want to write about. I'm never sure what exactly is ok and not ok to talk about. I wonder if I am sharing too much, who actually cares, or what purpose writing serves. The truth is that for me to sit and formulate words here, it has to be worth my time.

Raising our son is exponentially harder than I ever possibly imagined. It goes far beyond his medical needs and to his very personality. He is a tough baby. Everyone sees him and comments how cute he is, how chill he seems, how nice it must be to have him home. Blair and I talk frequently about how much "easier" it was when he was in the hospital. He is demanding. He is particular. He is loud. He goes from "I'm ok" to "Holy crap should be go the ER because he's screaming so much?" Often people don't understand the depth of this. Because when we go out, to my parents or to other places, it's almost like he puts on an act so people thing I'm crazy for saying how awful of a baby he is.

But is he awful?

It is incredibly hard for me not to compare him to Ellie. When Ellie was a baby she was doing, or she did this or that. She had teeth by this age. She was still nursing. She would smile and laugh at us. Dean likes to be held (sometimes), he likes his own bed (sometimes), he wants a bottle (sometimes), he likes the swing (sometimes). I'm never sure what he really likes, it changes so often.

There are days where nothing I do consoles him and screams at the top of his lungs for up to an hour. I am afraid to go places and do things because I never know what his behavior will be like. Watching my rambunctious and adorable two year old while juggling him and his supplies and bouncing, rocking him to keep him calm is exhausting. If I don't have an extra set of hands, I rarely go out.

I have never felt so isolated in all my life. My list of places I do are very short. We go to Grammy and Grumpy's house, because he will tolerate my mom, and Ellie can play to her hearts content. My mom thanked me the other day for coming over...I'm not sure she understands the depth of gratitude I feel that her house is a safe space for us.

I do not to go to peoples houses. I do not go to parties. I do not commit to anything. Everything is a maybe and sometimes I have to say, "Hey, not today". Rarely do I make plans. And if I do, they are often changed. It is easier to just stay home and wait until 9:00 to do our grocery shopping than to even attempt it by myself with both kids. Rarely do I go to sleep before 9:30 and always I am up by 5:50.

All the sounds like I'm complaining.

I'm not trying to. I'm trying to lay out for people how insane I feel most days. Shoot, most mothers do. I'm no exception. But I have to be reminded from other people that what we are going through is a little "beyond" what most go through. I forget that sometimes. I forget that about our son.

It scares me how easily I get frustrated with him, because he's a baby. It scares me how easy is it to forget what he looked like when he came out of surgery, because it was scary as hell. It scares me that I lose patience with my children, who are innocent and don't know about anything but Mommy being mean. Ellie tells me "I sorry" now, when she bumps me, or spills something, or does something silly.

I love our son. I fight and advocate for him every day and will continue to do so. I always will. Letting that fierce love live side by side with the frustration I feel when I can't calm him down, is a hard hard pill to swallow. One minute I'm staring at him, realizing he's been alive for six whole months, and the next I would give anything to be able to sit in my underwear eating cereal pretending I don't have a son who might one day need a heart transplant.

Many days, I long for silence.

It is hard not to slap a label on him. Awful baby. Crazy baby. Psycho baby. I've called him the Devil once or twice too, I won't lie. Colicky. Lord Jesus...he is the type of baby I feel kids in high school should see. If they did, they'd never have sex. They'd be way to scared.

And yet...he is such a blessing. I couldn't imagine life without him. Couldn't imagine Ellie asking for anyone else first thing in the morning.

Life right now is sweet and sour. And I'm having a hard time surrendering the dreams I had for myself and for my kids. I'm having a hard time putting aside selfishness. I'm having a hard time being content. I'm having a hard time seeing "this is only a season." I'm having a hard time being gracious to people, I get frustrated easily, annoyed and jealous more often than I'd like to admit.

And yeah, I could end this on a "And that's why I give these things to God" note. But here's the deal, I do give these things to God, but...day to day living? Yeah. Sweet and sour. The sweet moments don't last long enough and the sour moments feel like they are never ending.

Young mothers are told constantly "you will miss this".

From the depth of my heart, please, here my plea, and stop freaking telling us that. We are exhausted, covered in poop, behind on our chores, behind on showers, feeling more like "Mom" and less like we have an actual name every single day. Yes. We will one day have grown up kids and we'll be like "Awe we used to change diapers and snuggle". But in the middle of a storm, sometimes all you need to hear is "Yeah, I remember that, it sucked." So yes, I'm so freaking excited for the day both my kids can pee and poop on their own. I'm so freaking excited for the day that accurately communicate their feelings. For the day that I can tell them I'm going to pee alone. Or at least shut the door because I know they won't kill themselves. I'm looking forward to those things. Let me. Let us.

I'm learning the sweet and sour way, frustration and love all wrapped up in one five minute span.

Anyways, Ellie needs to get down from her high chair and Dean needs...well, hell, I'm not even sure what he needs now. Hopefully I figure it out though because if I don't, I'm looking at about an hours worth of pure screaming.

Bring. It. On.