Friday, July 04, 2014

{the adventures of regularwoman}

I'm making some kind of zucchini-walnut-chicken thing on the stove (I don't know exactly where I'm going with it), typing this on the counter two words at a time (I don't know where I'm going with this either), and entertaining Sullivan, who is on his blanket on the floor rolling around and playing with a stuffed dinosaur. This is multi-tasking at its finest. I can do anything, all at once. I am Superwoman.

It always starts out this way. I'm doing ten (okay, not usually literally ten) things at once. Then somebody starts crying (not me) but supper is burning so I'm standing over the stove turning burners down and stirring pots and yell-singing Everybody Hurts at the top of my lungs because it's the only song I can think of at the moment and Sullivan seems to hate that song so he cries louder and then the smoke alarm goes off.

That is always the exact moment that Barclay walks in the door from work and gives me such a look of pity like you've never seen. I am not Superwoman. I am Regularwoman. I have a bawling baby and black chicken and I've had cheesecake for breakfast every morning since last Tuesday (not this past one, the one before that), and I have a longer list of things to do than of things I've done plus I don't think I've showered since March.

But I kind of love it. The learning curve was pretty steep, between sleepless nights and a demanding baby and a house that JUST WON'T STAY CLEAN and then moments like this where everything all happens at once and my inadequacy slugs me in the face like a sack of pianos, but I've learned the secret to coping with it.

The secret to coping with it is to stop trying to cope with it. As though a messy kitchen was a problem (it's not) or burnt supper were a travesty (it's not) or unwashed hair were a sin (it's not). As though sitting on the kitchen floor with a sad baby was a waste of time (it's not).

I stop, turn the oven off, sit right down on the floor, scoop Sullivan into my lap, and say to him, "Sullivan. You are driving me a little bit up the wall of this pigsty we inhabit, but I love you a lot." He doesn't have a clue what that even means, so he just makes miscellaneous baby noises and we sit there for as long as we feel like it because we can and we should and anything else I could be doing doesn't really matter as much as that. Period.