I’m so tired

I know I will appreciate this when he’s school-aged, or when he joins the working world and gets things like “Always punctual, demonstrates initiative by arriving early to assist blah blah blah” on his yearly review, but why must he start now? Up since 5:30 twice over the last three days. He’s certainly not his daddy’s boy, but not really mine either since I don’t ever consider rising this early for no reason whatsoever. I wish I could get the grasp of cosleeping, that might keep him quiet for another hour or two, but I’m already on xanax for visions of him smothering in bed and waking during the night in a panic that he’s under the covers, so I don’t think I’ll chance it.

But he’s so cute. Just sitting in his seat as I type this, making cute faces and smiling and playing with his feet (new trick). Going “Mmmmm” and “Huh” and other baby noises. I think I got up with him at least five times last night, either due to nursing or putting the pacifier back in his mouth or something like that. I lose track. I lose track of a lot of things lately for this reason. I can’t even make a mental grocery list anymore, so Dave comes home with a Boston Cream pie and some chicken, but no coffee and we’re forced to drink tea because I just cannot keep a handle on things.

Henry is having allergy testing done tomorrow. I am worried it’s going to hurt him. I really only want to know if he’s allergic to peanuts, so I’m hoping they might agree to scale back the testing a bit. I don’t think anyone’s ever had a life-threatening reaction to hayseed, so I don’t think he really needs to know. Plus we don’t have hay.

I’m actively looking for a job because we has a poor, as lolcats would say. Henry’s preschool (which we love) is going full-time at the end of October and I have a lead on an in-home daycare for Rhys, so hopefully that aspect will be taken care of. I’ve applied for several jobs and been called back by one company asking about my salary requirements. I’m afraid after talking to them they’re not going to call me for an interview because my last job paid about 10k more a year than this one and they’re not budging. And really I don’t want to go back to work for less, but this is a different aspect of the clinical trial arena, and it would be good experience so if the interview went well and they offered, I might take it. And it’s directly across the street from my old job, which I find funny and ironic. But at least that would mean no more than a 25 minute drive to work. My other alternative is to work in RTP and that would mean at least 45 minutes.

I alternately love and hate this house, more often I hate it. It’s the reason I have to go back to work. If we hadn’t built this monument to greed and bought something more reasonable, I would be able to stay at home. But then on the days when I am ready to jump off the roof and plummet three stories to the ground, I am somewhat thankful I have a legitimate reason to go back. Plus I think it will be nice when the boys are bigger because we’ll be able to banish them and their loud friends to the basement and still have a semi-decent area to hang out. Dave thinks the basement will be “man land” once it’s finished, but with two teenaged boys, I think it will be closer to “teen land” at that point. I guess he better finish it soon and enjoy it while it lasts. Because a bunch of rambucious teen boys will not be traipsing through my living room, spilling cheetos and Red Bull everywhere (they better not be drinking anything other than Red Bull down there if you know what I mean) and raising hades (is that better, mom?) on my imaginary Ethan Allen furniture and leaving sweat rings on my yet-to-be-purchased dining room suite. There will be no mud-stomping on our dog stained carpet which already looks like a heard of elephants has crapped on it, after only a year and a half here.

So anyway, I am job hunting. I think I might not be cut out to stay at home anyway, I am having a really hard time dealing with being cooped up and an even harder time juggling both of them in public. A trip to Food Lion is a rare priviledge now. A trip to the bathroom unescorted is a rare priviledge now. Does “priviledge” have a “d” in it or no? Firefox says both ways are correct. Something else to ponder.

Just for the record (which means I’m the only one who cares) I weigh less now than I did before I got pregnant with Rhys. I think about 10lbs less. But that’s still a lot more than I weighed when we got married, which is a lot more than I weighed when we started dating, before Dave fattened me up by taking me out to eat all the time. Thanks! I haven’t really tried to lose any more weight since Rhys got here, so I’ve only got myself to thank for still wearing double-digit sized pants. It might help if I didn’t make a weekly pound cake, then eat the entire thing by myself. But it’s my one vice (well, not entirely) and I like cooking now so whatever. Whatever gets you through the day is my mantra now. Be it pound cake, xanax, whatever. I guess it could be worse, I could be a pound cake, xanax, martini mom. Good thing I don’t know what happened to the olives. Kidding.