Wanted: A New Plan

Warning:  this entry is rated R due to offensive language.  Please avert eyes if that sort of thing offends you.

I've been waiting for June 30 for a long time, ever since my phone interview with the nursing school a month and a half ago.  The 30th came a day early over here, and...not good.  

I ran to the mailbox like I do every day lately, just to check.  Today, and envelope!  From UW-Oshkosh!  Yay!  Then, fuck.  This envelope is skinny.  That's not good.  Tear open to flap, skim the skimpy little letter with a desperate hope that this was just the first of two or something.  No such luck.  "Thank you so much for applying...the program is highly competitive, blah blah blabbity blah.  Waiting list." 

So that's that.  The fucking waiting list.  Accepted applicants have until July 9 to secure their spot.  After that, they might offer entry to someone on the waiting list.  Only, how many are on this sucky-ass waiting list?  How many usually get accepted after being on the waiting list?  Does being on the waiting list give me any sort of benefit for future attempts, or is basically a 'it's not you, it's me thing, where everybody knows that "waiting list"  is code for NOT FUCKING ACCEPTED, stop wasting your time and your hope.'

What now?  

This has been my Plan with a capital P.  This was going to save me and my family from poverty, give my life meaning, propel me forward.  I had a Plan.

Now I'm floundering again.  I'm almost 30 for crissake, and I still am applying to and getting rejected from jobs where the only requirement is 'high school graduate.'  

I spent a lot of time this afternoon feeling sorry for myself, and am currently drowning my sorrows in a glass of red wine.  Tomorrow, I have to start anew.  Apply for jobs.  Update the resume.  Search.

What do I do now?  What the fuck do I do now?

Brilliant

Today, Sofia and I created a masterpiece.  It is my mom's birthday tomorrow, and I thought it would be fun for Sofia to paint a terra cotta pot for her.  She loves to paint, Mom loves plants, perfect solution.
And it was.  The pot looks fabulous.  Sofia carefully chose just the right colors and painted a beautiful pot. It looks great.  We even put two little handprints, which Sofie thought was just the greatest.  And then we put a plant inside.   You know, the kind with dirt and water.  Water.
Now the pot is sticky.  It still looks great, but you can. not. touch. the. pot.  Turns out, the washable kids paint that is so great because it never stains her clothes, making clean-up a breeze also washes off pretty well after it's been dried.  On a terra cotta pot.  I think instead of making a present for Grandma, we created a mess.
Brilliant.

A sibling, someday

I know this may seem counterintuitive based on my recent complaining and complete lack of patience, but I am so ready to have another baby.

and I know.  I KNOW.  We aren't ready.  The timing isn't right.  I need to finish school first, and I'm excited for that part.  I just wish I didn't have to wait.

I see pictures of siblings, and I tear up inside.  I watch a kid Sofie's age love on their younger brother or sister, I hear stories of kids playing together, fighting together, growing up together and I feel like Sofia's missing out. I feel that I am missing out.  I am missing those souls that belong in our family that haven't yet arrived.

I'm afraid that not having a sibling, not having to share, having four adults dote on her at all times is making Sofia spoiled.  She's the ultimate only child.  Yet, is that a bad thing?  Two of my best friends are only children, and they are the most thoughtful, generous, loving, interesting, wonderful people I know.  They have both said that part of them at different points in their lives has wished that they'd had a brother or sister.  Who among us, though, hasn't at one point wondered what it would be like if we had less siblings?  Or no siblings?

I wonder about my future child often.  I think of names, I wonder how he or she will be different from Sofia.  Will they be similar in some ways? What characteristics will make the new baby unique?  I wonder about the age difference.  Will five or six years be too many?  Will Sofia and he/she be close?  Will they still be able to play together?

And I wonder, terrified, if there will be another baby. Will we have the same problems we had before?  Will we try and try and have our hearts ripped out over and over again, never to be blessed with another miracle?  That nagging miscarriage fear is always there.  Am I strong enough to lose three more babies?

My family is not complete, and I yearn for those souls yet to come.  I have to trust that they'll come when their time is right.

Worth it

and then, after a day when I felt like my daughter would hate me forever, she wraps her precious little arms around my neck, gives me a loud smooch, and says, "Mommy, you're my best friend."

and you are mine, Sofie.

Crabby Days

It's not been a very good few days around here.

I'm not sure which came first, but the effect is the same.  Sofia is crabby.  Whiney.  Negative.  Whiney.  Grouchy.  Whiney.  Sad.  Did I mention whiney?
I have zero patience.  Everything makes me crazy.  I yell.  I pout.  I try to keep from crying and count to ten.  I try to remember that she's two, that we're both fighting a cold, that this is completely normal.  And then I yell again.

I hate the mother I'm becoming, at least right now.  I can't seem to get anything done, and the things I am able to do, nothing goes right.  I hate when I lose my temper, when my patience is thin and I'm always just a step away from the end of my rope.

What of this will she remember?  I've always thought of myself as a good mom, a patient mom, a mom that doesn't yell, that thinks of fun things to do, that loves her child more than life itself and would never want to send her to the moon, even for the day.  But lately, when my first attempts at fixing the situation don't work, my next attempts are less than effective.  Getting frustrated is guaranteed not the perk my daughter out of her bad mood.

Being a stay-at-home mom is tough.  Having been both a work-outside the home mom and a stay at home mom, both present their own challenges.  When I worked full-time, being with Sofia was my respite, my me time.  I was over-joyed just to be with her, and to do the things that need doing at home.  Since I hadn't been with her all day, all I wanted to do was play toys, do fun things, and enjoy my girl.  It was incredibly difficult to leave each morning, especially the mornings when Sofia hadn't woken up yet.  I hated that I was missing her life, that she was growing up and I wasn't a part of most of her day-to-days.  It was so hard to get everything done that a mom needs to do at home, and remaining productive at work was difficult.  My heart and mind were elsewhere.

Now, I get to be home with my girl.  I see her almost every waking moment, and I do cherish it.  There is always lots to get done around the house and at the farm, and I'm never bored.  I love having the time with Sofia, and I know she likes having me around.  However, because I am  here all day, I sometimes miss the moments of playing and imagining because I'm busy with dishes or lambs or vacuuming or everything else that needs to get done.  Because I don't get a respite, my temper gets short.  My crabby days get multiplied because I don't have an outlet away from Sofia.

So, today I made more of an effort to do fun things together.  We created an on-line book, found Sesame Street coloring pages, and tried to do a craft together.  For about five minutes, it was great.  Then, the whining, crying, say-no-so-everything behavior started.  Again.  And I feel like a failure.

So, we'll count to ten, read stories, and just make it through today.  Perhaps tomorrow will be better.