Chores, chores, chores

It feels like that’s all I have been doing so far this weekend. Ok, it’s only Saturday, so there is some chance that Sunday will be better. But not much. I think this is the hardest part of having a baby – at least for me. I am not a great homemaker – in the traditional or any other sense – and I really don’t like to clean or keep things tidy. God knows, my parents tried to teach me to make my bed and put away my clothes and put the laundry where it belongs. But to no avail.

But with a baby, you HAVE to clean – especially at this stage, where Sam finds EVERY SINGLE fuzz on the carpet. And he eats it. So we can’t – or rather, shouldn’t – leave our shoes out, or overlook crumbs on the carpet, or forget to dust for a few weeks. And I should really mop his room at least once a week, and wash his curtains and tidy up the clothes in his dresser. And there’s a constant load of laundry waiting to be washed. It’s like I have seven kids, not just one.

I am not complaining, really, but I hate to see our weekends slip away like this. Saturday is already gone and tomorrow I should clean our bathrooms, mop our bedroom, and dust in the living room. Drew helps a lot, really. But to him, “cleaning” means “putting things in order.” So he is great about making sure that the magazines on the coffee table are in a neat pile and he’s great at sorting through the stuff I throw on the table by the door – receipts, bills, catalogs – but he doesn’t CLEAN. But I’ll take all the help I can get.

I don’t know why I am complaining about this today. I am in a bit of a crappy mood, I guess. Sam’s been struggling with a cough and so have I for a few weeks and that’s making me grumpy. I was also just upstairs, putting Sam to bed, and as he snoozed on my shoulder I was thinking about how lonely this motherhood thing is turning out to be. I have a husband, and my parents, and plenty of friends, but it feels like it always comes down to just me and Sam, alone in his bedroom, me rocking him and fretting about dust bunnies and the many, many what ifs and could have beens that come along with raising a child.

When he was a tiny baby and I was up with him at 3 a.m., the only thing that kept me going some nights was the thought that there might be other mothers out there, awake in the middle of the cold night with a hungry or sad baby.

Is there anybody else out there?


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