Lord I've had it. This week has been hell. And I'm too damn nice.

I babysitted this week, so there was a houseful. Well, a houseful for me. I'm actually starting to feel guilty as I look around and see some people with more than three kids, and here I am bitching about my two soon to be three. But some people aren't meant to have kids, (me) and especially not more than one...anyways. So, my stepdaughter, who is 3 which is a terrible terrible age, my one year old son, who incidentally is a whiny little wuss boy...and the international championship star soccer player in my belly and our neighbors little girl who is also three. What a runon sentence. I need to go back to skool.

Her father brings her here at 6:45 in the a.m. Which I might add is an ungodly hour and should be banned. Seemingly children have radars that detect other children in the vicinity who are awake...I think they send out silent alarms like dog whistles that only the young can hear, and my two were up within minutes. Generally, they both know not to start the breakfast whining and I'm bored crap until at least 9, because, I'm not sorry to say, I sleep. Some people wake up when their kids do. I don't. I'm pregnant, and when I am asleep, it's coma like. You try creating life. It's tiring. But no. This morning I had to watch teletubbies, Mr. Rogers, Barney, Zooboomafoo, among other childrens shows I can't stand. I stayed in the kitchen, scrubbing furiously at the stove and cleaning the fish tank out like it had never been before. I even redecorated it, avoiding the child storm in the living room. My curtains were ripped down, screaming and laughing all day, (I'm a peace and quiet person) fights and whining, bloody noses and sticky hands, my sand and shell dish was turned into a bakery to "make cakes." My fountain was molested, my fern harrased, my things gotten into.

You know, I didn't realize how well I had mine trained not to touch me and Mark's shit. Because make no mistake, that's our shit. And children have dirty sticky clumsy fingers. My mother raised me around a house full of crystal and I was taught not to touch. I do the same with Jonathan and Grace has gotten very good about it. She even threw me nervous glances when Janice, the other hellion would touch things she shouldn't. I heard Grace say more than once, "That's Petra's, put that back." But that dissolved about 4 hours into her visit when Grace figured, "Hey, when in Rome..." and started doing the same things. She held up for a grip though. Got to be proud of that.

That was just a bad day than ended with me calling my mother, hysterical, asking her how in the hell was I supposed to have another baby and raise him without going completely paper-case crazy. She injected her words of wisdom she claims I never hear, which I do, I just pretend to ignore, and the little girl left. Of course, not until she broke a few toys, disrupted my diciplinary rules, brought anarchy into my hiearchy, and left me racoon eyed and tired. I'm starting to dislike children, I love them, but I'm not liking them more and more everyday.

I keep trying to remember I am only 22, a vibrant interesting woman who is newly married and in love with her husband, with attractive children, good friends, and sometimes I still know how to have fun. Then I look in the mirror and realize I haven't gotten to shower yet today, I neglected breakfast because of no time, my house is a wreck, I haven't been out-of-doors in a week, and my sweat pants are starting to become a uniform. Also, I was wondering, how do real newlyweds act? Because you'd think me and Mark have been married for years. I sat on his lap yesterday and realized I haven't done that in months. *sniff* Where has the passion gone? On the shelf with my vibrator, second third and last to the Cassies, Cliffords and Dora's and nursery rhymes I hear all day long.

I'm not unhappy, just tired. I want to go out on a date with Mark, and hang out like we used to, forget for a minute that we have kids, bills and a broken vacuum, and just be young. I'm done with this massive brain fart of a whine, maybe I'll update later with something of seeming interest if that happens to happen. Heh.

-Petra

written on 2003-11-19 at 11:00 a.m. by sweetsolace.

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