I have a problem. You see, something happened to me between the time my son was born and now, a little more than a year later. Something bad. Here it is:
The seemingly simplest of chores feels like a monumental task that no woman in her right mind would ever try to take on.
Here's a little look at how my mind works:
I really should wash the dishes. Oh my gumballs, I don't think I've ever seen so many dirty dishes. If I wash them, it will take hours - way longer than the baby's going to sleep. And then I'll have to wait for them to dry, which will probably take like two days. Unless I want to dry them by hand, and who wants to do that? And what I am supposed to do with the other dishes that will get dirty between now and then? Not to mention I need a new sponge, which brings me to
Going to the store? Are you kidding me? You can't possibly expect me to load myself, my enormous diaper bag, and my squirming child into the car to drive *all the way* to the store. During which time he'll probably fall asleep, and then I'd just have to come all the way home because heaven knows that I can't shop with a sleeping child. And if he doesn't get his nap, he'd be just awful. All amped up, running around the house, flinging toys to and fro. And then I'd have to
Tidy up the house? Have you seen how many toys are on the floor? I can't possibly pick them all up in one day. And you know how I have those slightly OCD tendencies; it's not like I can *just* pick them up. I have to sort them, and put them in the right place. And he's just going to take them all back out again anyway. Besides, they kind of hide the fact that there's so much dirt and fuzz on the carpet, so if I picked them up I'd have to
Vacuum or sweep the floor? But my kid's terrified of the vacuum. He'll just scream. And if I can't vacuum, then there's really no point in sweeping because the fuzz and dirt will just get tracked all over the non-carpet areas of the house. Though I suppose the bottoms of my socks wouldn't be so gray if I cleaned the floor more often which make it easier to
Do the laundry? I don't think so. Have you seen the three weeks' worth of clean laundry that's sitting in a pile on my dresser? It's a wonder that we even have clothes left in the closet to wear.
And so it goes. Each time I think about doing anything, I work myself up into such a tizzy thinking about how hard it will be that it becomes overwhelming. And so I don't do it. Any of it. And then I spend all my time feeling bad about how I don't do any of it.
I think it started out simple enough. Things *are* harder to do after having a baby. You can't just pick up and go like you used to. And you get interrupted. A lot.
But it isn't as bad as I make it out to be. Every time I actually convince myself that I can, indeed, manage to put the dishes back in the cupboards or write up my list and get to the grocery store, I always find myself saying, "Oh, that wasn't so bad!"
It seems that those times are few and far between, though.
Enter: my mother. She moved to town when Little Spaghetti was about four months old. And this is where the real problem begins.
But in the interest of not boring you with a post that's miles long, I'll save the rest of the story for my next post!