I am not a robot

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Sometimes I have to repeat this to myself over and over to remember that it is true.

Let me explain.

Maybe it's just me, but ever since I became a mom I have picked up the nasty habit of thinking that I can be all things to all people, all the time. I am under the illusion that I have no need to eat, sleep or relax on a regular basis. Exercise has become a luxury. Free time is non-existent. Scheduling, preparation, marathon hours at home and in the office? That I can do.

Remembering that I'm only human? Not so much.

Take this week for example. I had an AMAZING week at the office. Checked items off of my to-do list. Extremely efficient with my time. Closed a major deal that has been 5-months-circa-15-years in the making. Worked a few late nights. Had dinner with a great girlfriend who surprised me with the fact that she's moving to the tri-state in a few weeks (YEAH!!).

But each and every day this week, Victor decided that 4:30am was the new black - meaning that The BadAssMama got less that 5 hours of sleep each night. Truly remarkable that I was able to accomplish anything, given the late nights and early mornings.

So - I MUST be a robot, right?

Then Thursday night came along and the matching set of heavy under-eye bags accompanied by lower back pain and the distinct feeling that a boatload of sand was been fed into my tear ducts at regular intervals reminded me that, no - I am not a robot. I am a human. Beautifully, tragically, thoroughly human. Rather than fight the feeling, I decided to go with it and vowed to hit the sack immediately after my kids.

And then all hell broke loose.

Instead of eating dinner, Victor declared that he was sleepy and wanted to lay down in the stroller (long story - it's still the only place that he'll take a nap). Never fear! Robot-Mommy is here! I gave Victor his milk, plopped him in the stroller with a kiss and got back to the business of feeding Little A. Angel was in rare form, so it took all of my energy to get a reasonable amount of food down his throat, leaving little to no time for me to prepare or actually consume a decent meal for myself.

So, while we went over his speech therapy homework, I ate Oreos. A LOT of Oreos.

By now it was roughly 7:45 and I was running behind on the bath/books/bed routine. I took Angel up to play a bit before bath then went back downstairs to retrieve Victor-Roo-Roo. When I pulled him out of the stroller he felt a little warm, so I changed him into PJs and attempted to administer some Motrin, just to be safe.

Did I mention that Victor can vomit on cue?

After a frantic call to the neighbor for back up while I cleaned the pool of vomit from Victor's crib and foot-of-the-bed, a crying phone call to my husband that I JUST WANTED TO GO TO BED AND NOW ALL THIS SHIT IS HAPPENING, followed by hours of worry that Victor might be coming down with something (he wasn't, as evidenced by his bouncing-off-the-walls for the rest of the weekend), you can probably guess that I got next to no sleep on Thursday night either.

By Friday, I was a hot mess - strung out on a combination of over-work, over-stress, over-eating and under-sleeping.

Painfully, ridiculously human.

This week, I am going to post a memo on my front door and kitchen counter and desk and rear view mirror to remind myself that I am NOT a robot.

Maybe that way, I'll remember...
Anonymous said...

Girl i understand 100% been there done that and sorry to say it is not over.enjoy and god bless you and your's.one love+ one god=Peace Amen.

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