Wednesday, February 24, 2010

"The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament."

PART 1

On a day not to long ago, I was totally Super Woman. I woke up at 5:40 after having only 5 hours of very broken sleep, fed the baby, held him close, checked his diaper (still dry), got his clothes ready for the day, tucked him safely into his car seat, carried his goody bag for the day out to the truck, following after he and his dad. Then I watched them pull away, closed the garage door, came inside to pump, got a few moments to myself to read my novel, then I washed all my pump parts and got them ready for the day. Then I washed all my body parts and got them ready for the day.

I arrived at my “real job” at 7:45 and was immediately buried since my boss had worked all weekend and it was a 4-dayer for both of us. . . I pumped (while continuing to work) at 10:30, worked until 12:45, then rushed off to the grocery store and finished that ugly business. I hurried home, popped a piece of day-old pizza in the microwave and while it was warming, I put away half of the groceries. Then, I poured myself a glass of punch, sat down to eat and read for a few more minutes. Then up and back to work (a little late) at 2:10. I pumped again at 3:15 (while continuing to work), called IT at 5:15 for a computer problem and left work at 5:47.

I got home just as M was hauling the sleeping baby into the house. I kicked off my shoes and went to the kitchen, where I started water boiling, shrimp thawing under the still-running faucet, and butter melting in a saucepan, then I finished putting the groceries away. I made shrimp scampi over whole wheat fusilli, toasted French bread, and corn. Since the baby was hungry by this time, I fed him while M ate. Then, I ate. By that time dinner was cold, but I ate it that way because everyone knows shrimp get rubbery with a microwave reheating.

Because I was tired and my body was sore and my head was achey, I conned M into giving the fussy baby an early bath to “distract him from his hurting teeth”. Only, I rushed around ahead of M, setting out the baby’s bed clothes/clean diaper/towel, filling the bath with warm water, setting out the soap and washcloths. In short, I’m the world’s best prep cook. (Wish I had one. . . ) I put the leftovers away, finished loading the dishwasher, and turned it on. While the baby was being tortured bathed by his dad, I started pumping – stopping abruptly when the baby began to cry nearly inconsolably, and getting up to show the dad how to dab the excess water off his face with a damp cloth – then resuming. I went our closet and perused M’s clothing to find the most unwrinkled items so as to save him from the dreaded task of ironing them. Then, I wrung out the baby’s bath sponge/washcloths, drained the tub and put all things bathtime away.
I sat down just in time to feed the baby by bottle, which he plowed through, while his dad told me the pants I picked out were too long for him and proceeded to go and pick himself new ones. I got up to get another bottle and washed pump stuff and bottles while I was up. The baby fussed and I sat down to feed him again, stroking his head to help him get to sleep. He quickly dozed and I put him to bed, aching to drop into the big one next to his little one. Instead, I went and (finally) pumped. M went to bed – without saying “good night” or “I love you”, I realized later – and got some stuff ready for the next day. I went to bed at the blessed early hour of 9:45.


{Stay tuned for Part 2. . . }


[Title quote is from Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery"]

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