Happy International Day of the Woman to all! (I hope you had a better one than I did.)
I find it somewhat ironic that today also happened to be a rather awful day for me at home with the kids. Here I am, doing a tough job that has traditionally belonged to women for millennia, yet ‘celebrating’ my femininity was probably the last thing on my mind. ‘Survival’ was more like it. (And wishing I could fast-forward a few years, maybe…)
Potty training is not going well, despite my best efforts. Poop on the dining room floor. Poop in his underpants. Pee in the corner of the living room. I may go slightly crazy from the frustration of trying to get through to a two-year-old!
Baby went on a hunger strike. No idea why. He’s as happy as can be, except when I threaten him with a boob. Then he screams, stiffens, turns red, and flails wildly in rage. The screams cease instantly whenever I sit him up. Babies are supposed to love milk-filled boobs!
The toddler unrolled an entire roll of paper towel as we were trying to rush out the door. He climbed into his brother’s crib and woke him up, right after he’d finally fallen asleep after a fussy period. Of course the baby wouldn’t go back to sleep.
I then found him sampling dinner ahead of time, a full-sized chicken breast speared on the end of his fork as he nibbled casually while standing on top of his booster seat on top of a chair.
Even naps didn’t go so smoothly (oh, now yesterday’s post is coming back to haunt me!). Waking up from a nap screaming is never a good sign. It took a while to get that under control, and I did manage to convince him to go back to bed, which worked for fifteen whole minutes.
Finding time to blog? Forget it. Not a chance.
When my husband walked in the door, I was on the verge of nervous breakdown. I had managed to stay pretty calm all day, but was holding back tears while struggling to get dinner moving along toward some semblance of normalcy. Without breaking stride, he swooped down to pick up the child wearing poopy underwear and whisked him into the bathroom to get cleaned up.
That was the best Women’s Day gift I could have received: a beautiful reminder of the fact that outdated patriarchy does not have a place in our relationship and that being a stay-at-home mom means something quite different for me than it has in the past for millions of other women. Now that’s something really worth celebrating!