Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Bored and fickle


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.

1 comment:

Eve said...

There's something so therapeutic about letting things go, at least temporarily. Letting the laundry pile up. Letting the dishes sit dirty. Letting the husband come home to it all. It's the antidote to that resentment that every maternity-leave momma feels (at least occasionally) toward her husband.