Sickies

Enough already. I'm not writing like I should be and I'm going to remedy that. I scrapbooked in all my spare time last week. Then I got sick. Who wants to write when they're sick? Then it snowed and, ug, who wants to hear about my disgust with that? Then it snowed more. And more. And more.

But worse than the snow even was that Chicka caught the cold that had knocked me on my arse.

Crazy Amounts of Snow
+
1 Sick Mommy
+
1 Sick Baby
1 Unhappy Household

In spite of the coughing that's going on today, both of us are feeling marginally better. Thank goodness because it was seriously breaking my heart to see my girl feeling so crappy. My normally very active, mobile baby was lethargic and sad yesterday. She whimpered and cuddled and sat still. 3 things that she normally doesn't do.

Danica's been sick before but not to this degree. I just wasn't prepared for how I would feel. I mean, there was nothing I could do aside from try to comfort her and give her something to break her fever.

It true what they say about having a child is allowing your heart to go walking around outside of your body because yesterday my heart was laying on the floor whimpering and all I could do was scoop her up and hope for the best.

I think I must be nuts

I haven't been writing much lately. Oh, I've been busy and all but that's not really the only reason. I've got lots to write about but the one thing that's in the forefront of my thoughts these days is getting pregnant again.

Am I crazy???

When Danica was a newborn, I remember asking Amanda why in heaven's name did people have more than one child when it was so difficult? I was sleep deprived and frazzled and bewildered.

She told me because they "had to". I didn't really really understand it at the time. But here I find myself flipping through the maternity clothes section of the catalog. Wandering through the maternity aisle at the consignment store. Carefully packing away Danica's outgrown clothes instead of giving them away. I could go on.

For as long as I can remember I always only wanted one child. I make it a rule to never say never and I stuck to it. Good thing because here I am, admitting to myself and to you that I want another.

So I find myself faced with questions. How far am I willing to go this time? How long am I willing to try? I cannot ~ CANNOT ~ allow myself to become swallowed up whole by Infertility this time. I simply cannot. I need limits.

I just don't know what those limits are.

Look, up in the sky!

Finally, a few minutes to blog!

Just so everyone's clear, stay-at-home-parent does not actually mean that one is home all the time. Far from it. In fact, my schedule is probably fuller than it would be if I wasn't "at home". Between Declan's preschool (I volunteer there), Aerik's primary school (I volunteer there), Jackson's playgroup (you guessed it: I volunteer there, too), Aerik's blues band and piano lesson (every Monday night for two hours), appointments for everyone (including speech therapy, fittings and repairs of hearing aids with the audioprostheticist, my own therapy to deal with how insane my life is), cleaning, cooking, making lunches, grocery shopping... you get the idea. Then, when I attempt to sit down for a few minutes I get bombarded with demands from... Oh, right! Those kids! I'm so busy I nearly forgot I had kids.

That's the problem with life these days, isn't it? We're all terribly impressed with ourselves and our Super Mom complexes that sometimes forget what all of this is about: the children. And before anyone vehemently denies this claim, let me just say that I'm on to you. I know you feel it, too. That pressure to perform perfectly in nearly every task. That desire to be the mentally sound Desperate Housewife, or Desperate Working Woman, or whatever you are. To have it all: The looks, the balanced chequebook, the well-behaved children, the loving relationship, the sparkling house... And if you're one of the few who doesn't wish they could have all those things, then you're either in the thick of denial or incredibly healthy in the head. Either way, congratulations!

Every now and then I wonder if I, Amanda Knox, could be a Super Mom. I imagine preparing home-cooked meals every night with an apron fastened tightly against my flat stomach (the one I'd have by going to the gym three days per week), happily running the Home & School committee and coming home to rose petals sprinkled all over the bed by my doting husband.

Then, of course, I wake up and smell the Kraft Dinner. I can't have it all, you see. It's simply impossible. If I go to the gym three times per week then I have to either find childcare (which would cost enough that I couldn't afford the gym) or go out in the evenings (my husband would be too tired to have anything laid out on the bed but himself, snoring). If make home-cooked meals every night I won't be able to play on the floor with the kids while the pizza is busy being delivered. If having a spotless house was that important to me I'd have to check into a mental facility to deal with the stress of toys on the floor in the *gasp* playroom!

At any rate, I'm fairly pleased with my mediocrity.

(Must go. My cape is stuck in the washer...)