Dialing it In

I'm still in a funk. Tired of winter, feeling the burden of single parenthood. Tired of the nonstop planning and strategizing that goes into being moderately successful in my day to day life. I don't like to complain about single parenthood, bc I am profoundly grateful for my sweet, loving, generous, weird Gumball every single day. I am also aware of how tremendously privileged I am, to be able to stay home with her, and to enjoy the lifestyle we live. I am lucky, and blessed. Complaining seems like whining, or taking my privilege for granted. But man, I get tired. I wish someone else would plan a dinner, or cook, or run to the store to get something we need, or read a book to Gumball, or just give me an hug. Or tell me that I'm doing a good job. Or let me sleep in. I'm feeling tired, sad, and lonely. Very lonely. I'm also feeling isolated, bc I don't think anyone who hasn't been a single parent knows what single parenthood is actually like. I don't know what co-parenting is like either, or the profound loneliness of feeling unloved and under-appreciated by a partner. But that's not the point, either. I'm not so much comparing myself to others, as simply missing what I don't have.

Someone whose opinion I value greatly, told me today that he thinks I've been feeling sad and defeated since Mr. Bond (a new nickname) broke up with me. It's true. I miss him terribly, and while I've re-started my diet, and lost the 3 pounds I gained back while trying to eat my broken heart away, my heart just isn't there these days. I'm back on one dating site, and have pleased to receive a few messages. But I don't feel engaged, or enthused about dating. I miss Mr. Bond. Worst part is, I sent him a Valentine's Day card, and a week later, a text. He never responded.

So yeah. To recap, I feel sad, lonely, misunderstood, alienated, tired, and still, broken-hearted.

Sick

Sick, or in other words; When Our Beloved Heroine Eats Crow



I woke up this morning sick. Really sick. I felt so dizzy and nauseous that I could barely move. When Gumball started squawking at 6:45, I was afraid to pick her up, afraid that I would drop her. And terrified to walk us down a flight of stairs. I changed her, gave her some Tylenol in case of teething, and put her back to bed. I stumbled back to bed, praying Gumball would give me an hour to pull myself together. 10 minutes later, she was standing, shrieking, demanding attention. I had to call my mom, and she was here 30 minutes later. I spent the entire day in bed, sleeping and gagging, on and off.

My mom entertained Gumball, fed her three meals and a snack, changed diapers, got Gumball to nap, and made us dinner.

My mom is my lifesaver, once again.

I will eat crow for a long time. She can give me all the celebrity stylist parenting advice in the world.

Exhausted (Yet Proud)

So, I admit, I have a 15 hour a week nanny. Sometimes, if I need it, she stays an hour or two more. I've now figured out how to shower with the baby, but honestly, as cute as she is, splashing away in the tub, I really don't love family showers. I need 15 hours of help a week so I can shower alone, cook, clean, pay bills, go to the grocery store... you know? Fun things like that. But not having the anxiety about leaving the baby happily playing in her room to race downstairs and grab dirty towels to wash? Or whatever? That's why I have a nanny. I get to worry a little less when she's here. It's a tremendous relief. Sometimes, she even does some household chores- like cleaning the kitty litter or folding laundry or washing the sippy cups. I detest washing sippy cups. One thing about living without any other adults is that no matter what it is, I am responsible for it. So when someone else washes the sippies, or cleans the kitty litter, it is a huge relief. Better than a party.

This week, my nanny, T, has been sick. Its been a terrible week for her. Not going to lie, not having any help has been rough on me too. 9 days without a break. That's not entirely true. I went to my mom's house, and while she was holding Gumball, I fell asleep on the sofa. Needless to say, this week Gumball's sleep has gone right down the toilet. Literally. She has started pooping herself awake. I feel sorry for her, but also sorry for me. No help, and multiple night wakings. Just like when she was a little, itty, bitty baby!

It's also been a rough week for a whole other reason. Gumball's dad has had some (more) good fortune. He needed paperwork from me, to buy a house, and all I wanted to do was say, "no. Fuck you. I'm not giving you anything." Because he has not had one moment of sadness or inconvenience or sleeplessness. His daughter doesn't even know what dad means. But since we're not divorced yet, I was too afraid that he would retaliate if I didn't get him the paperwork. Retaliate through the baby. Try to take her from me. And to me she is the most important thing in the world. More important than my pride, or revenge, or sleep. So I cried and got him the paperwork. I feel sad, and somewhat defeated, but at the same time, I got though it. A hard week, with no help, a night-pooping babe, and lots of sorrow and regrets. Thank god its Monday tomorrow and T feels better so I will get some help.