Keeping It Real, Post #1

THE 'PIZZA' INCIDENT

I know I painted a pretty picture of our travel day yesterday. It was a great travel day, for sure, especially considering we're travelling with a nearly two year-old. The plane ride was great. Rhys only had one melt-down when we first got to our seats. We couldn't figure out why he was freaking out so badly, until we realized he didn't want to sit on our laps, and instead wanted to sit wedged between us, where the arm rest would go (this was before we knew for certain we had the the row to ourselves). Once we decoded the tantrum, the rest of the flight was a breeze.

But I'm a fan of keeping it real on my blog. The day did not end has perfectly as it had started.

We arrived at our vacation rental, which is a 2200 sq ft 4 level split condo, steps from the beach and the ocean. We were thrilled to find a nice open main floor for Rhys to run around in, and more space than we needed everywhere else. We were on the 'we've made it!' high. Then I eventually looked at my watch and realized it was nearly 6:30pm local time, meaning it was 7:30pm our time. Back home Rhys would be in bed. But we hadn't even eaten dinner yet, and all Rhys had in his tummy was fish crackers and fruit jube jube snacks.

Warren did a quick google search for pizzerias and grocery stores. First he found a 'local family owned deli & market' with a pizza place a block from it. Perfect! That sounds charming! So off we went. The grocery store was easy to find, but turns out 'family owned market' is another term for 'moderately over priced convenience store'. But, it did the trick. We got breakfast items and beer (they sell beer EVERYWHERE in the US!). After loading the stroller, and our arms, with heavy plastic grocery bags, we continued on to find the pizzeria. Google didn't let us down. There it was, a block away. Fantastic! We order a large Hawaiian.

Then, the meltdown. 'Out! Out'! OOOOOpeeeeeen!" Rhys whined and screamed to get out of his stroller, but we were on a steep sidewalk by a busy road, with people everywhere. So I took Rhys down to the pier to distract him. Meltdown continued, the sun started to set, and a cool breeze started to come off the ocean. My arms were sore from the grocery bags hanging off them. And no sign of Warren or pizza. Then a mom and dad with two kids in these little push-car toys came whizzing by, their children squealing with delight in their toy cars, and Rhys lost it even more. 'Car! Car! Caaaaaaaaar!' Cry, cry, thrash, thrash, whine, scream. Cold wind picking up. Couples on dates starring. And no Warren or pizza.

It had been almost half an hour now. We were quoted 15 minutes. I started to panic. Did Warren misunderstand me, and think I was taking Rhys back to the condo? Maybe he's there already? But I have the key! God, could he be that STUPID? To not even CHECK the pier to see if we're there? He doesn't have a cell phone, either!

I was filling with rage. I could feel the heat rising off my face. So I pushed that heavy stroller up that steep sidewalk back to the pizzeria. And by God if Warren wasn't still in there I was going to LOSE MY MIND. I storm up to the door in a fury, only to see Warren sitting inside. He looks up to see me, and raises his hands and holds up two fingers.

Being a woman is complicated. You would think my rage would melt away, knowing my husband DIDN'T go back to the condo without us. But no, my rage simply transferred to the fact that our pizza still wasn't ready, and this was somehow Warren's fault.

Finally Warren comes out with a big pizza box. I calm down. We walk back to the condo. We open the pizza box that reads 'Best Pizza in Los Angeles!'. To see the most pathetic pizza I have ever seen in my life. Limp, thin crust, with hardly any toppings. It was the kind of pizza you fold up and eat like a taco.

All we could do was laugh and say 'Wow, Americans have terrible taste in pizza'.

The silver lining on this terrible quest for a quick & easy dinner, is that as I changed Rhys into his PJ's at 8:30pm local time (9:30pm our time), he pointed to his pack n play and whispered 'bed...bed...bed'. "You want to go to bed?", "Yeah". And he was out for the night.

The Honeymoon Is Over

The first couple weeks being back at work were great. I won’t lie.

The quiet bus ride, sipping a latte. The morning chit chat with co-workers where people talked about stuff OTHER than how long their baby did or did not sleep last night. The meetings where tasks were assigned and lists were made. The peaceful time at my desk, being ‘Creative Amanda’, writing scripts, with all my favourite photos of Rhys cycling by in my digital picture frame. The lunches that I could eat, at my own pace. The steaming afternoon coffee that was still hot when I swallowed the last drop. Heck, I even got to be on set again, saying hi and catching up with all the crew members I used work with on a monthly basis in my past life. I was me again. It felt great.

Now that I’ve been back, just shy of a month, it’s dawning on me that waking up at 6am every day, no matter that I only slept for 2 or 3 hours because of a sick, restless toddler, is a permanent reality. That time to blog (and read blogs)and go the gym, oh – and connect with my husband in a meaningful way, are falling off the to do list fast. By the time the evening has unfolded there isn’t any time. I’m not the type of person who will stay up until midnight to ‘get things done’. Sleep is a precious commodity I don’t take for granted. I’ve already experienced afternoons at work where, if only I had a more private work area, I wouldn’t have hesitated to rest my head on my desk and have a power nap.

I am so tired.

The house is messy. The clothes are dirty. The shrubs in the yard are unkempt and unruly. The garbage can in the kitchen is beginning to stink. The potted plants are brown, and yet, they remain on the front steps to greet visitors. The highchair and stroller are caked with smashed cheerios and applesauce. The fridge is full of nutritious food that has wilted and died while I cooked frozen pizza for the 3rd time in a week. And, when there is a moment or two where I could actually clean or be productive in some way, all I want to do is SIT. And beat myself up for not being more energetic.

I’m sure I can’t blame the fatigue entirely on being back at work, because it’s not like I was saving the world in my spare time before. In fact, if I’m being truly honest, I think I’d be even more tired if I wasn’t back at work.

Simply put, Rhys is just a handful these days. I’ve gotta say, 13 months is not my favourite age thus far. He’s walking and exploring which is lovely, but his little world is still revolving solely on his selfish instincts and any time he cannot touch or hold or eat or climb that ONE THING he has his heart set on, it’s a catastrophic event in his mind. He can’t communicate his moods, his preferences, his discomfort, his boredom, his hunger, his fatigue...all he can do is whine and cry and scream and stomp his feet. If I was still at home every day, all day, with him at this stage, I would probably lock myself in the bathroom and cry.

I want to write about this phase, because by writing about it I’m reminding myself that it is, indeed, a phase.

Dr. Mom (and Dad)

Last night is now a distant haze, and I don't really want to relive it all here. But I'll relive some. It started off innocently enough, Rhys fell fast asleep without a peep.

I was chatting with my dad on the phone around 8:30pm when I heard Rhys squawk. "Gotta go, Rhys is crying".

He didn't stop crying until 1:30am. We put a lot of miles on the 'ole rocking chair last night, since that was the only thing that would help him settle. But put him back down...and screams. The worst, frantic, painful screams. The entire night was a stressful, frustrating, heartbreaking game of 'try to guess what is wrong'. Is it his teeth? Are his eyes still itchy? Is it separation anxiety? It's Daycare! This all our fault! Is he hot, cold? Maybe he has an ear infection? Is he frustrated with his sleepsack? Maybe indigestion from the fish sticks? We tried everything...Tylenol, burping, coddling, water...he was inconsolable. Convinced he simply just 'missed us' we attempted twice to get him to sleep with us in bed, something we have never done before.

How do other families co-sleep? Seriously, he tossed and turned, and sat up, and screamed, and rolled, and screamed and rubbed his face into the bed...so that didn't last.

Finally after some tears he fell asleep for an hour or so in his crib. Then he woke again at 3am, screaming, crying, etc. Again with the guessing game, but this time Warren & I are delirious with fatigue and stress and start arguing and getting snippy with each other, thinking every idea or theory the other person has is stupid.

Warren: Okay, don't yell at me, hear me out, but maybe it's...

Amanda: Stop it! This is NOT because of the cupcake they gave him at daycare! I've had enough of your sugar-phobia, damn it!

Ya, it wasn't pretty. But stress and lack of sleep aren't a good mix, and then add in the screams of an inconsolable child and blood pressures are sure to rise. We weren't at our best.

At 5am, after many more attempts at rocking him to sleep, we brought him, once again, to our bed. He was wide awake. We came to terms with the fact that our day was likely going to be starting at 5am and turned on the cartoons and gave him some milk. Soon after that...propped up and nestled into Warren's shoulder, he was snoring. Warren soon followed, then I did too. We slept together, our exhausted family of three, half sitting up in our king size bed until 7am.

Long story short - went to the doctor and the culprit is...ear infection.

Sometimes I wish I'd gone to medical school, so that I could be a Doctor, instead of just playing one on TV.