I don't know what to do with Jack.
Somehow I got the three of us ready and into the car in time to go to the one and only playgroup we attend. I needed this playgroup. Surviving these initial days of Two Kids On My Own requires at least a two-hour afternoon nap. The last time we'd gone to playgroup Jack slept till nearly FIVE so that's what I was gunning for today, folks. A deliciously long afternoon nap, in which I would watch TV and catch up on blogs and read the paper and, oh yeah, make sure the other baby is fed and rested.
Once we got there, Jack spent the next several hours running around like a fool. The friend who hosted has a huge beautiful house a little ways out of the city and Jack probably didn't know what to do with all the ROOM. And all the DIFFERENT rooms. And the upstairs! And the backyard! I didn't mind too much when he flat out refused to eat the rest of his lunch and smirked at me every time I told him to COME BACK HERE because I was going to get a nice long afternoon to myself. ME ME ME.
Would you be surprised if I told you I've spent the last hour trying to get him to go to sleep?
That's not entirely truthful. He fell asleep in the car. He stayed sleeping when I put him in the crib. He woke up howling about forty-five minutes later. "Interesting!" I thought to myself, and continued eating my butternut squash soup (see: turning orange) and waited for him to quiet down. But he didn't. And it went on long enough that I thought maybe I should go upstairs and see what the fuss was about.
After ten or fifteen minutes of wondering what I should do, I finally picked him up and sat down with him in the rocking chair. I sang 'Baby Beluga' ninety-seven times. He fell back asleep. I put him in the crib. He woke up. And five minutes later he started crying.
That was about half an hour ago. He's not howling so much as loudly whining and I don't know what to do. He's tired. He needs to go back to sleep. I am not going back up there to get him.
I really really hate this part of being a mom. Not the work and not getting time to myself (although that IS a bummer), but the not knowing what to do. The older he gets the more I question what I'm doing in this whole parenting business. Molly is a piece of cake. Feed her, change her, wash her endless loads of spit up laundry. Molly makes me feel like I'm doing a good job. Jack, depending on the day, makes me feel like an idiot, a big fat meanie, incapable, incompetent, lazy, wondering if I should send myself to anger management counseling.
I don't know how to handle this emerging personality. I don't know how to make him listen to me. I don't know how to get him to eat. I am too tired to take him outside to play. I am too overwhelmed to get all of us out of the house. I don't know whether to be mean or firm or if my frustration is justified. I don't know if I should just let everything go. I don't know what to change. I don't know what to do when he's tired and won't sleep. I don't know if I should leave him there, yelling in his crib, or not.
God, I feel like such a crap mother right now.