Well, another Holiday season has come and gone, leaving me with a horrible hangover; the kind you get from sleeping in late, being cooked breakfast, eating way too much rich food and enjoying a lot of help.
The reality check after a week visiting family is a harsh one. The kind that makes you want to cry as you try to adjust to juggling a screaming toddler in one arm while you try to rock the overtired baby to sleep in the other. All while your husband is taking a very inconvenient “bathroom break” and has locked the door because he’s legitimately worried that you will follow through with your threats to bust in on his gassy ass one of these days.
After the arrival of Mackenzie, Chris and I truly started to understand why people say ‘it takes a village’ to raise your kids. It does; there’s no denying that. Problem being, our village lives a veryyyyy far ways away. Very far. Very, very far. Like in Narnia.
When we go down South to visit our families, we get to experience a taste of this ‘village’ people speak of. Someone to cook dinner because you’re nursing the newborn for the 50th time that day (can someone say growth spurt?), or to bathe the toddler (yup, cause you’re still nursing), or to take the baby who just launched into a full blown verbal assault for no clear reason.
I packed a book in my bag…. A fucking book! Didn’t read a single page, but the option was there, and that’s a beautiful thing.
So what’s the issue? I’ll tell you; we got comfortable. Too comfortable. We settled into the routine of Nana working through the challenges of breakfast (yup, even we have resorted to the ‘airplane’ spoon technique), and Auntie coaching her through teeth brushing and reading bedtime stories. We settled into comfy spots on the couch and enjoyed luxury time just doing nothing. It was 6 days of pure bliss.
Then our vacation ended. We had to fly home with two tired, spoiled little girls and very quickly realized that it was just us again. Bath time is a bit of a tango. Dinner time is anything but seamless. Bedtime can be a small shit show, and is most of the time. And we are effing tired at the end of it all.
Turns out that raising a family miles away from any family is fucking hard; some may even say stupid. Parents get sick too, and it’s quite challenging to take care of two tiny kids when you are afraid to go farther than five feet from the bathroom (personal experience here….).
There are some days when you just need to take a serious 5 and pretend like you don’t have responsibilities for a bit. But your husband’s at work and it’s seriously frowned upon to let the toddler ‘babysit’ her 2 month old sister while you have a cocktail. Sometimes we’d really like to drop the kids off at Grandma and Grandpa’s for a couple of hours so that we can ‘fool around’ without the baby waking up or just take a fucking nap. But that isn’t an option.
We miss our village. A lot. Sometimes it seems really unfair that we don’t have our village to lean on… But then again, we chose this life and chose to live up in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles and miles of dirt and other shit.
Tomorrow is Monday, which marks the start of a fun game we play, called “when will Mommy snap this week?” Odds are I won’t make it until Friday… I’ll probably be surviving on triple shot Espressos and late night wine binges by Wednesday.
I miss my Mommy.
Until next time…..