Tuesday, July 22, 2008


When F hits C and he starts in surprise and then scrunches up his face in panting little sobs, I just lose my mind. This morning I was nursing him on the couch and she was lounging beside me, all smiles and talking, when she suddenly kicked him (very on purpose) in the head. Inside I went ballistic. My internal reaction was so intense that I couldn't even respond to her--I just got up off the couch and walked away with the crying baby. I stayed mad at her a long time, which isn't helpful. She had, I'm sure, forgotten what she'd done, and wouldn't know why I was being short with her. I know it's not nearly the only time she'll be rough with him, and someday he'll be big enough to turn around and whop her back...

We're leaving for NC on Thursday, driving down with everyone in the car--Mitch, me, both babes, and the dog. 11 or more hours says mapquest, and that's obviously not including stopping to nurse the baby. It could take us days. I'm optimistic about it all; not about how quickly we'll get there, but about enjoying ourselves on the way, even if we don't arrive until Sunday. Today I tried to organize the house and pack; tomorrow I have to get the car completely loaded up so we can leave early early Thurs morning. All this and Mitch at school the whole time. I seriously don't know how single parents do this. Even with my two babysitters I'm completely exhausted, emotionally drained. I can't even wash a dish before both kids are in bed. By that time the kitchen is a war zone and I'm all out of juice.

F has started to bargain. When I say "only one song before bed," she says "two songs." And if I say, "okay, two songs and then it's time for bed," she says, "three songs." I keep my wits about me and stick to two. Her favorite phrase right now is "Cece play little bit," which means, "I want to play some more instead of do whatever it is you want me to." Night before last she woke at 3am crying hard, a bad dream, and when I went in she said, "Cece play little bit." Cece is what she calls herself. Used to be that's the best she could do with the name Frances, but now she can say it fine and chooses to still call herself Cece. If you say, "Is your name Cece?" she says, "no. Frances." Her other favorite phrase is "more talking mommy?" which means she wants me to tell her things--about the upcoming trip, about what we're going to do tomorrow, about things that have already happened. She loves to hear these stories. "More!" she says. "More talking mommy?" (which sounds like "ma-taki-mommy")

Oh my goodness I'm tired. It's 10pm and M just called to say he's on his way home. Poor guy is so stressed trying to finish his dissertation. Sometimes I think, "I'm not cut out for this," then I remember that I'm doing it alone and it won't be like this after this push to the end. It won't be like this after August. It won't be like this forever. It's my current mantra. Eye on the ball.

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