Gathering up the pieces
Posted on | September 16, 2005 | 10 Comments
The morning was unassuming enough. Out of routine, because of the rain and the fact that Bean woke up nearly an hour earlier than he usually does. No morning walk, but cinnamon toast instead. The newspaper. Coffee. The essentials were all there. And Bean took a nap, like he normally does, but woke from it suddenly, fussy. And then the day went careening off kilter.
Bean gradually fell apart. As did I. One of those days where darkness seems to fall early because of the weather; when the house feels hot and tight. My body pent up and sluggish from having missed my runs for three days in a row.
Refusing to sleep, Bean skipped his second (typically long) nap and then screamed hysterically when either of us tried to lie down with him; to cuddle, to offer a boob, a pacifier, a warm body to curl up against. Of course, he seemed to know how thin my patience was.
DH and I kept shooting each other looks. DH trying to remain on the periphery as though it were MY duty to deal with Bean.
“You could ask me for help,” he said.
My skin prickled with angry heat. “You could ask to help,” I replied.
All either of us wanted was some solitude and down time. This is what makes parenting so hard. The fact that you can’t just take space when you need it. I tried. DH, readily apologetic, made me tea, while Bean crawled in forlorn circles around the coffee table, alternately bursting into tears or grins depending on whether the cat walked by or not.
I wolfed down chocolate chip cookies, sipped tea and tried to read a chapter in my book while the two of them sat on the couch opposite me: Bean pushing all of Dh’s buttons by repeatedly dropping his teething cracker under the couch.
When DH and I get sucked into self pity, we’re both fools and we know it. The situation is beyond us. Neither of our faults. We know this. Yet we can’t seem to help ourselves from lashing out. Acting morose. Bean was exhausted, over stimulated, inconsolable. Teething perhaps, or simply off.
Finally I drew a bath, and we all spent the next 45 minutes in the bathroom trying to regain our humor. Bean and I in the tub, chasing his wooden spoon. DH sitting on the tile with a dolphin washcloth tickling Bean and making him giggle. And everything was better.
Bean nursed for a long time then, and fell asleep making little whistling whimpering noises with his breath the way he did when he was a newborn. It’s likely he’ll be out for the night. There is still time for a swim, for making pizza with potatoes and Italian sausage, for drinking the bottle of wine we picked up at the store earlier. For laughing on the couch, finally watching the indie flick our neighbor recommended.
But oh the agony of getting to this. Like broken pottery. Shards everywhere. The mosaic can happen. But seeing the bigger picture is sometimes so hard.
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10 Responses to “Gathering up the pieces”
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I am Christina Rosalie
Hello. I'm so happy you've stopped by!
I am a multimedia storyteller, digital strategist, idea starter, stalker of wonder, finder of four leaf clovers, MFA graduate student, and mama of boys. My first book,
will be published by SKIRT! Books in September, 2012.
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September 16th, 2005 @ 7:22 pm
Ugh.
The part about him alternatively bursting into tears or grins based on whether the cat walked by or not… I swear I’ve done that too some days. =)
September 16th, 2005 @ 8:36 pm
The crying/grinning based on the position of the cat is so funny, but I guess because I don’t have to handle it. Maybe someday soon it will be funny for you too. This story really illustrates the trial of parenthood: your love is clear in every word, but there is always a new frustratrion that you weren’t expecting.
I hope you REALLY enjoy that pizza, wine and movie.
Thanks for your kind comments on my blog
September 16th, 2005 @ 9:05 pm
The mosaic–what a nice comparison.
Enjoy your lovely evening, ya’ll have earned it!
If I were around, I’d gladly babysit the little guy so you could could have a night on the town
Random question–where do you swim? Pool nearby, or lake?
September 16th, 2005 @ 9:52 pm
I like the mosaic correlation. That is how you feel at times and seeing the big picture is hard in the midst of a day like that. All I can say is, I’ve been there. You seem to have come through it well and managed to redeem the night in the end though! Also, watch Bean for any illnesses. Your description of how he acted was exactly how both of my kids did at that age right before they were sick. (Not to alarm you, but there’s a lot already going around.)
September 16th, 2005 @ 10:46 pm
Poor you and Dh and poor little Bean. I know exactly how you feel. Enjoy your evening, i hope he sleeps through.
September 17th, 2005 @ 6:05 am
What a gentle description of what at the time was probably such a sharp-edged day.
Ah, the cats! Small Boy’s goal in life is to touch the cat. The cat’s goal in life is to stay as far away from the Small Boy as felinely possible. Cat walks by, Boy gets all starry eyed and hopeful, cat disappears quickly. Boy is so disappointed and it always amazes me that he has yet to cry over this.
September 17th, 2005 @ 3:34 pm
Ah, I know exactly how you feel. Seeing the bigger picture in life in general often makes me feel a little better about poring my heart and soul into something that at the time is so frustrating
September 17th, 2005 @ 6:02 pm
You have perfectly described a day that so many of us have experienced. I hope Bean’s feeling better now! And I’m impressed that you were able to turn things around. When I’m having a day like that, too often I go to sleep feeling that way, too….
September 18th, 2005 @ 10:14 pm
thank you for writing this – so beautifully worded – so honest and real and gritty. life as a parent.
September 19th, 2005 @ 5:17 pm
I remember days like that, when the kids were small and my scalp hurt from tensing so much. Thank god for the restorative powers of water. For days like that I think: It comes to pass. Isn’t that nice? It doesn’t come to stay.