I mostly spend each day living in brief gulps from one moment to the next. In between tickle fights and time outs, I also sweat it out each day on the tightrope that is PPD and all its repercussions in my family, my health, my marriage and my sense of humor. Some days are good, some days only wish they could aspire to the high ranks of pond scum, but it's all part of my life. And it's all worth it.
Happy to be home, or why I hope to never see a public restroom again in my life
Looking around yesterday at my house, I felt… motivated. Excited even. We’re back! I’m here! There’s so much to do! Let’s get this family back into our lives again! Yay, laundry! (ok, maybe not “yay” exactly, but not a whole general sigh of despair at the tipped over pile).
Vacations are nice, wonderful even. The freedom from routine, the lack of responsibility– all these things simmer in a yummy mix of warm fuzzies. But there is also, amidst all this fun, a slow build up of inconveniences. Sleeping in hotels is great, but the kids don’t settle down as easily and, after awhile, the restless nights add up to grumpy fits during the day. Eating out all the time is a treat, but by the end of the week, let’s face it, everyone’s tummies are not in the best shape (internally or in terms of squishiness). Truth be told, one of the best things about coming home was the proximity and comfort of our very own bathrooms. I’m pretty sure no one sets out to take a tour of every public restroom in the Midwest, but we did it nonetheless. Ah, the joys of constipated toddlers with regressed potty training. Let me count the ways… there is not enough hand sanitizer in the world to wash away my woes.
When we walked in the door, my head filled with all the things I needed to do, all the things that I had set aside and now COULD do. I unpacked all the dirty, wrinkled clothes for the wash and got dressed in something fresh and new-feeling. Turning to the kitchen, I started a tally of grocery items before I could even reach for pen and paper. The sigh I breathed when the girls ran up to rediscover their very own playroom was epic. For 10 days we were in the utmost of close proximity, which was fun while it lasted. But being able to let them just LEAVE THE ROOM for extended periods of time was bliss.
The excitement of returning to the comfort of my life and routines is still in the air (though my fervor for laundry is dissipating rapidly). The best part, though? After a week and a half of being together without actually having any time to enjoy each other’s company, my husband and I looked at each other in the vacuum of noise as our children left the room and, with the fervor of survivors, embraced each other and said, “Hi.”
