desperately seeking balance

Phew.

I'd love to post pretty photos of my kids or share inspiration of all the lovely handmade things we've been making. I'd love to have a recipe to pass on, or some wisdom.

But I'm too bloody tired.

My return to full time work last week was a rude reminder of how good I've had it the past few years.

Sure, I jumped for joy when I saw what had been deposited in my bank account. After years of struggling to get through each month, I thought, "Wow! I can finally replace my mix master! And buy new undies!"

And of course I looked forward to the joyful challenge of meeting my new gaggle of Kindersurprises. I looked forward to the return to school-year routines, and spent many days getting my classroom in order so that the months I'll be teaching pass smoothly.

I just didn't know I'd be so tired. Or so busy. Or that Margot would be so whiny and clingy as a result of never having had to say goodbye to me five mornings in a row.

I spent the week looking forward to the weekend when I could give my kids my undivided attention and lots of cuddling.

By Saturday at noon, I was ready to go back to work, if just to get away from the impossible demands of a three-year-old who couldn't let her mother out of her sight. 

Did I mention that we're finally getting around to getting her to poo in the toilet? I know, I know, save your judgments for another day. Margot's been totally trained for more than a year, never wets the bed or has "accidents", but has refused to poo in the toilet. So, we just used one diaper a day. She knew when she needed to go, found a private corner, and let us know when she was done. It seemed to make sense to get her out of that habit at the same time that I went back to work.

Not such a great idea. They say hindsight is 20/20.

So.

Take one stressed, busy, exhausted, and slightly constipated seven-months pregnant mama who snuck off to the bathroom with hopes of five minutes of privacy.

Add to it one preschooler who is paranoid that her mother has disappeared completely if she can't see her at all times, who also panics if she feels the urge to poo. 

So. There I am, in the midst of...being locked in the bathroom alone. And Margot is outside the door screaming her head off, psychotically banging on the door, absolutely PANICKING. I calmly tell her again and again, in my best Julie Andrews voice (while feeling like Al Pacino inside), "Mommy just needs to go to the bathroom...I'll be out in a minute"...

Finally, she screams that she's pooed down the pantleg of her pyjamas.

This happens three more times in the day, and each time I patiently bathe her and change her clothes.

I spent Sunday planning meals, grocery shopping, preparing food, catching up on laundry, and feeling tormented by the guilt that I should really be spending time with my children while knowing that the week will go more smoothly with muffins, soup, and shepherd's pie in the fridge.

I'm seeking balance between work and life, with a rueful laugh at the hopelessness of this task I've set for myself. It's a joke, right? There really is no balance, at least not at this point in my mothering journey. 

Can I just add one more thing? My mother is my saviour. She takes care of my girl(s) five days a week, does most of the laundry, and has dinner waiting when we get home. The dishes are washed, the counters are cleared off, and the kids always have some neat craft to show off. I'd be completely and totally lost without her. Once we've eaten, we make lunches and get the dishes cleaned up, and prepare for another day.

Thanks so much, mom...if I have any hope of getting closer to balance, it's because you're on the teeter-totter with me.