Well, Mommalady, what now?
The last several days, despite the good doctor's visit, I've been in a funk. The Lad's refusal to nap made me resentful. A battle of wills with The Boy over table manners left me snippy and guilt-ridden, which made me sarcastic with the husband and that escalated into a nasty, hours-long fight. I found myself fretting The Lad wasn't getting enough tummy time and whether The Boy was ever going to recover from becoming a big brother.
I couldn't figure out what my problem was. Then I realized: I've hit the midpoint of my maternity leave.
I am not cut-out to be a stay-at-home parent. At first, I love it. I clean my house and do laundry and cook and run errands. I spend naptimes reading. I take the kiddo to the library. We go on walks. But then, everything is more or less clean and I'm tired of laundry. This weekend, I organized my cookbooks. Safe to say, I've hit the boredom point, and after that is the crazy. I feel like I'm wasting time. Innocent questions from the husband -- "What did you do today?" "Did The Lad let you nap?" -- start to feel like accusations of laziness. Alternately, I develop a martyr complex. The husband, it feels, does nothing.
In a week, I'll be moaning my maternity leave is almost over and how can I leave my BABY?!
But right now, I miss work. I miss daily deadlines. I miss chatting over the cubicle walls.
I got the same way when I was on leave with The Boy, but then I let things fester. Giving into the boredom made me feel guilty -- how could I NOT want to be with my kiddo? -- so I did more -- the grout! it must be scrubbed! -- and then was a total shrew to the husband. (Really, it's a wonder we ever decided to have another kid, looking back.) Rather than repeat that performance, I spent today giving into the boredom. I did the bare minimum. I ignored dusty furniture and dirty floors and finished my book and ate Thin Mints.
I feel so much better. And it's a comfort knowing I'll be well-rested enough to really do the end-of-leave hand-wringing justice.