Off the Rollercoaster

I can hear SciFi in his crib. Playing and not sleeping. I could really use the solitude. I am trying to read a book my friend and I are working through together: Becoming the Woman God Wants Me to Be. It is written by Donna Partow and designed help me become closer to the Proverbs 31 woman. In 90 days.

But the toddler in the other room is singing. And climbing out of his crib. And pooping his diaper (which he should no longer be wearing). Please, please, please baby. Just do the routine.... Stick that pacifier (which he should no longer be sucking) into your face and shut. it. Muh. Mommy loves you.

I do prefer the squawks from the other room to the help he gave me in the kitchen earlier. I was cleaning the kitchen and making lunch. Why? Why did I clean before I made lunch? I still don't know. I like to make it as complicated as I can, I guess. Anyway. He found a bottle of my Melaleucal "MelaMagic" cleaner and on the bottle was the image of a mop. SciFi pointed and repeated, "mop! mop! mop!" until I "ummmhummmed".

I should know by now when he pivots like a ballerina followed by a full sprint, that he is on a mission. And this particular 2-year-old's mission was to fetch our mop. To show mom that she knows that he knows we have a mop just like the one he sees on the bottle. So when he came in with it, I glanced in his general direction and "ummmhummmed" some more. I didn't understand that the mission wouldn't be complete without the scrubbing bubbles. In the time it took to drain my broccoli, he had climbed up on the counter, and dumped the cleaner onto the floor beneath.

When our eyes met, he knew I would intercept, so he did the hustle. In two steps I could spoil all of his fun so he got down and mopped like the energizer bunny.

Instead of being concerned about toxins, or the fact he'd been standing on the counter, I was overwhelmed by darkness.

All I could think of is how badly I want to get off this ride. God... a beach in Mexico is calling my name. LOUDLY.... God, I feel so guilty for wanting to run away. Can't I even make lunch? Can't I even hold myself together until noon? Am I too selfish? What is the matter with me?

In these moments, everything shuts down. And the child next to me who is simply being a child, triggers my despair. And it has nothing to do with the mop. Or the mess he made.

Its the cry from a woman can't seem to find the energy to clean up her own personal messes.