I feel emotional today.  My main emotion is anger.  Or, if you want to pick this apart psychologically, my recent feelings of stress and worry and my inability to control a situation–every situation–has led me to express myself with anger.  Which, as they say, is always a secondary emotion.

Last Monday night Nate and Zack were playing together and Zack tripped over a toy landing, open mouthed, on another toy.  The bleeding ensued, but, as everyone knows, blood is bound to happen with boys, so we weren’t worried.  Fast forward to Sunday.  Almost a week later.  His lip had bled a little more occasionally, but nothing crazy.  Just from getting bumped again.  Whatever.  But then under his lip a “growth” started appearing.  On Sunday afternoon Nate flew out to New Orleans for a conference.  Before I put the kids to bed they were both in the tub.  I brought up some water to wash Zack’s face, specifically under his nose, since it had been a bit runny.  I was considerate of his upper lip, but apparently not soft enough.  Blood started running down his little naked body.  He was crying, so I got him out, using his towel to control the blood.  I put him to bed once the bleeding had stopped.  He woke up crying a few times before I finally went to bed.  I would go into the dark room, give him his binkie, and leave.  As I was going to sleep, my head having just hit the pillow, Zack began crying again.  And this began my very long night.  He woke up every 1-2 hours the entire night.

At about two o’clock I went into his room to help quiet him down, and I smelled something stinky.  I grabbed his wipes and diaper and took him into the living room so as not to wake Mackay.  I turned a light on in another room to give me just enough light to see.  And when I changed his diaper, Zack wasn’t poopy.  “Then what was that smell?”  I thought.  And then I saw his face for the first time.  My half asleep self was instantly charged with adrenaline.  He was literally covered.  With blood.  I could see it matted in his hair where he had been sleeping in a pool.  Under his eye, where the blood had turned into a puddle.  It was all over his body where he had smeared it on himself.  I gave him a bottle and got a wet rag.  As he was eating I tried to clean him up as best I could.  Once I felt myself want to cry.  But I pushed it away.  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” I kept telling myself.  At about 3:00am I called Nate in his hotel and asked him what I should do.  We decided that a frantic middle of the night trip to the hospital was not the right option.  I was going to wait out the night and take him in to the doctor in the morning.  We survived, but not without a huge mess to clean up in the morning and being completely sleep deprived.  Even if he was sleeping I was awake hoping he was really just asleep, not passed out from loss of blood.

The doctor’s office opened at 8:30am.  I called at 8:35, and got an appointment for 9:45.  After waiting in the waiting room for 45 minutes, we were able to see the pediatrician.  She took one look and told us that we should visit a specialist.  The growth under his lip had grown and was now hanging below his front teeth.  She gave me the name to a pediatric Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor and told me that if I could get in within a week, that would be great.  That wasn’t an option for me, I made her call herself to get me in as soon as possible.  She made me an appointment for 2:00pm that very day.  Though she said I would probably be waiting for a while since they were fitting me in where there was no opening.  After waiting for an hour and a half we saw our second doctor of the day.  He took one look and suggested surgery.  The only way he was going to be able to get in there and see what it was, was if Zack was asleep.  (After an entire day of doctors he wasn’t at all cooperative.)  And the doctor suggested a few possibilities of what could be the problem.  The hospital moved around their schedule to get Zack in the next day.

I called Nate emotionally and physically drained.  “He’s getting surgery tomorrow.  Can you be there?”  I felt so alone going through the whole night and day by myself.  Nate flew home that night to be with us for the morning surgery.  That whole day I was SO nervous.  Was I making the right decision for my child?  Did he really need surgery?  Or did this doctor I had barely met just need a new boat?  The surgery was only supposed to last about 30 minutes.  But no matter how short or routine, this was happening to MY son.  And this is anything but routine for us.  What if he goes into surgery, and the anesthesiologist does something wrong?  What if Zack doesn’t make it?  I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.  Was I willing to take that chance?  When Nate got home he made me feel better.  His very presence just made everything a little better.  We prayed together, and I felt that everything was going to be okay.  But even walking into the hospital that next day I had my doubts, hoping we wouldn’t go through with it.

But we did.  The doctors and nurses acted like it was just another day at the office, which kind of forced you to feel that way, too.  They gave him some medicine to calm him down, and Nate and I admit we laughed a bit too hard at our dazed and loopy child.  But the medicine wore off before they took him away to surgery, and our once overly relaxed Zack became super hyper Zack.  He ate the pulse monitor off his finger.  And he wouldn’t stop saying “uh-oh” as he tried to climb on and around everything.  Every nurse and doctor that came in to see us was saying “uh-oh” from hearing it so often.  They gave him a bit more “silly juice” but it didn’t really work.  Our son was wired.  A nurse took him from me as they wheeled his bed out one door, and we were escorted to the waiting room out another.  I gave him a kiss before he left, and prayed in my heart that I would see him again.

30 minutes is a long time.  Nate and I both got Cheetos out of the vending machine.  And after about three bites realized they were absolutely disgusting.  I watched a newborn baby video on how to.  How to nurse, change a diaper, bathe baby, insert a rectal thermometer, and take care of a newly circumsized little boy.  I have no idea why that video was playing.  It’s place made no sense at all.  Nate read the newspaper while I watched the polygamists in the corner, (sorry to stereotype, but I’m pretty sure), the inappropriate video, or just blank space.  Nate kept talking to me about articles he was reading, though I had no interest.  I had brought a book to read and paper to write, but I didn’t want to do anything.  I just wanted to sit there and wait.  Finally the doctor came in and I was immediately relieved.  The surgery went well, and Zack ended up with three stitches.  It turns out the upper labial frenum was larger than most peoples.  Which, when bumped, split in two–making two flaps of skin.  Blood kept clotting and breaking making the large growth.  So he fixed Zack all up, made his labial frenum the right size, and all we had to do was wait for a nurse to come get us after Zack woke up from the anesthetic.

A nurse came in and called our name a few minutes later.  As we were walking down the hall he said, “Your son is pissed.”  Was that the sound I was hearing?  Yes.  He was screaming.  When we walked in a nurse was holding him trying to calm him down to no avail.  I held him for a minute, just glad to see my son.  But soon handed him over to Nate because I couldn’t contain him in my arms.  He was screaming and flailing his body everywhere.  And if he found a wire in the chaos, he pulled it as hard as he could.  This went on for an hour.  In a large room with other children and their families that had just come out of surgery.  All I could do was mouth to them “sorry.”

So now Zack is home.  He is getting much better and we are happy to be over with the surgery and the ugly thing under his lip.  But I am still angry.  I think I’m still just emotionally tired.  So here are the things I’m angry about today:

1. The smashed lizard stuck to my shirt this morning.

2. The fact that there are two ways to spell catsup/ketchup.

3. The fact that we are all out of catsup/ketchup.

4. Whole grain bread is disgusting.  3/4 of the reason why I eat it is because it’s the “cool” thing to do.  Only 1/4 is because it’s supposedly healthier for you.  I heard a woman talking to another woman at the grocery store today.  She said she “preferred” whole grain bread.  “Yeah, right.”  I thought.  She’s lying.  Just like everyone else in America is doing.  It seriously made me tense up.

5. I’m mad that we had to pay $4 for parking at the hospital.  It’s not like we aren’t paying them enough already.

6. I’m mad that I haven’t cried.  That maybe I don’t feel comfortable enough or safe enough.  I’m mad that the doctors and nurses treated everything like it was normal, making me feel that it wasn’t okay to be worried and scared.  I’m mad that I suppressed my emotions instead of experiencing them.

7. I’m mad that I missed the UPS man yesterday.

8. And I’m mad that I’m mad.  Because it really doesn’t make a lot of sense.

I always knew that I wanted kids.  And I always knew that I wanted to be a stay at home mom.  But I could have never known how difficult it would be.  Nate thinks I’m a little bit crazy.  Some days he comes home and I’m standing right in front of the door.  Without a greeting I say, “Here are YOUR kids.”  I’m done.  I’m emotionally, and physically, drained.  I think of my day and long for a quiet moment in the bathroom by myself, or a shower before 1:00pm, or a full nights sleep, or a nice meal where I eat all my food–by myself.  Or even the idea of standing in a kitchen alone, without tripping over one child, and feeling a constant tugging at my pants by another.  I think of how many times I had to clean up messes, or say the words, “Give that back to your brother.”  Or “time out!”  I think of how difficult it is to go grocery shopping, or go to the post office.  How difficult it is to make dinner in the evenings.  When I have two cranky kids and I’m exhausted myself.  I think of Zack.  And how the kid WON’T SLEEP.  (Just now, after almost an hour of crying, I think he is finally asleep.)  And Mackay, who thinks she’s smarter than me.  And when I tell her not to do something she just says, “Then don’t look.”  When did I lose control? And in these moments I earnestly wish for no kids.  (Did I just admit that?)  Yes.  For just a day…or two.  To get a little bit of life, and sanity, back.  To know what life is like in the outside world.  Where people are awakened by alarm clocks, and then they get in the shower, and then they eat breakfast.  And those activities are easy for them, even mundane.  Sometimes I with for easy and mundane.  And quiet.

And then right before bedtime.  When we seem to have a moment of peace.  And Mackay and Zack play TOGETHER.  And I hear the beautiful music of their laughter.  And I think, “There’s no where else I’d rather be.”  And I say to Nate, “I sure love my kids so much.”  And he looks at me weird, because just two hours before they were “HIS”  and now they are “MINE”.  And then the conversation in my head goes something like this, “Maybe I could have another.” And then Zack starts crying in his crib.  When he is supposed to be sleeping.  And I think, “Nevermind.”

So when sometimes I have good days, and sometimes I have bad, today is a bad day.  Nate was leaving for work this morning and I wanted to cry.  To reach out for his leg and not let go.  To switch him places.  I have no idea how I am going to get through the entire day with these kids.  And leave them, and I, in tact.  But I will.  And I will do it again, tomorrow.

Mackay made Nate and I fill out “questionnaires” on Sunday.  For best friend I wrote down Nate.  Nate wrote down Ben.  I looked at Nate and he crossed out Ben and wrote Kalli.  We also had to write down our favorite candy bar and favorite toy store.  When it came to my favorite word, I was stumped.  I asked Mackay what word I say most often.  The word I wrote down as my “favorite” word: Hey!  Nate’s “favorite word”: STOP!  That says a lot.  I don’t really want to do another questionnaire for a while.

I’m praying for rain.  This is weird for a photographer, I know.  So I’m praying for weekday rain, not weekend.  But Mackay just bought an umbrella and feels a very deep need to use it.  And I’m sick of sitting under it in the house pretending it’s raining.  We need the real stuff–for her sanity and mine.

I’ve got book club coming up.  Which means that I have to go to the gym and walk on a treadmill for a couple hours so I can finish my book.  (Free child-care.  Max: 2 hours.)  A casual pace for 90+ minutes really wears your feet out.  And burns off a few calories…right?

I had a 7:00am photoshoot.  At 6:45am I’m driving in the dark.  Oops…didn’t think about the sun not being up.  It was one of those *duh* moments for me.  But it’s another thing checked off my list of things I’ll never do again.  I’ve checked a lot of things off that list in the last few years–but randomly they pop up.  Someday I hope for no more surprise *duh* moments.

I’m getting into busy season, and I’m really enjoying it.  (Though I’m also looking to Christmas break when I get a little more rest and relaxation.)  I’m feeling so busy right now I have to write “shower” on my list of things to do.  If I don’t, it won’t get done.  I’m sure my husband appreciates that I write that down.  Even if yesterday’s shower came at 2:30pm.

In all my stress lately I’ve been coloring.  It started out with Mackay, but has since turned into something that she cannot help me with because it has to be perfect.  I  know.  I’m ashamed.  I’ve been working on one picture for four days.  And when I’m done I’m not quite sure what to do with it.  Either put it on our fridge or send it to work with Nate so he can put it up on his wall.  Probably the latter.  And I’ll probably sign it in the bottom corner, too.

Mackay came out of the bathroom today.  Excited.  Too excited.  She told me she went to the bathroom with BOTH toilet seats up.  And she didn’t fall in at all!  The joy on her face was adorable.  The reason for the joy was disgusting.

I just walked into my bedroom closet to put something away.  I was looking up on a shelf high above my head, and noticed something unusual.  I have a pair of pajama pants.  I got them from my dad one year for Christmas.  And they are, self admittedly, the ugliest things you have ever seen with some Looney-Tunes character all over them.  But to not hurt my dad’s feelings I kept them, and they are the softest, most comfortable pants ever.  And I looked up on the shelf and noticed my ugly Looney-Tunes pants.  Rolled up neatly, hiding from me.  The nerve.

I remember one day when I was little my dad grabbing a pair of my mom’s “house” pants.  They were bright blue, thin to almost see through from wear, with bleach stains all over them.  My dad hated them; my mom wore them.  And one day I saw my dad cutting them up and throwing them in the outside garbage can.  So they could never.be.worn.again.  I’ve turned into my mother and married my father.