A Bad Mom

Having a bad mom day. I woke up Depressed. I have Depression. This happens. I made breakfast for the toddler, and made a bottle for the baby, then sat down on the couch to feed Thing 2 while Thing 1 ate at the table.
The toddler finished quickly, and announced, "Done!" If I don't retrieve him from his booster seat soon, he gets grumpy, and heavens knew I didn't want that. I put the baby down, who proceeded to cry, from being interrupted, while I cleaned up the toddler and instructed him to "Go play!" with a smile on my face.
I proceeded to feed the baby. He's been teething, I think, so is exceptionally grumpy, and gave all the cues that he wanted to go back to sleep, shortly after finishing his bottle. I laid him down, and sleep he did not. He only cried, while his eyes rolled back tiredly. While I'm checking on the baby, the toddler is attempting to enter the baby's room, while loudly talking, yelling, and crashing things. I proceeded to close the door behind myself, from then on, while checking on the baby, which made toddler jealous and angry. I would leave the baby alone to cry, for a time, to follow the toddler around wherever he wanted me, but when I would inevitably get up to check on the screaming baby again, the toddler followed behind with a loud whine.
I got a notification I had a grocery pickup ready at WalMart, so I grab the baby, who never slept. He screams on the floor while I throw shoes and a jacket on the toddler. I drag the toddler outside, and attempt to put him in his carseat. He sits with his bum at the edge of the seat, lazily staring at me. I try to lift him back, to correct his bum, but his stuffed dog is in the way. I throw one of his arms through the seatbelt, chuck the dog on the floor, and get his other arm through, with effort, while he screams at me over being restrained, and over the missing dog. I return his dog when I'm done with the seatbelt. (The baby, fortunately, gives me no grief, and is quite cute.)
By the time we're home, the baby is still yawning, rubbing his eyes, and has started screaming again. The toddler has removed his shoes, thrown his dog on the floor again, and is whining about it. I carry the baby in the house, and go back for the toddler. I grab a gallon of milk to carry upstairs with him. He leans over, intent on carrying the milk himself, resulting in his near falling out of my arms while we're up half a flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs I'm barely holding him under his armpits. I set him down, and thankfully, he heads for our door. He complains the ground is cold, and, while I'm opening the door, he attempts to run to the neighbors door. I catch him in time, and herd him inside.
The baby is screaming on the floor. I throw the groceries down, lay the baby in bed, then head back to the kitchen to put food in the refrigerator. The toddler wants milk. Somewhere along the line half of his toys escaped their toy boxes, and are all over the floor. I give him milk. The mess is getting to me. The toddler is trying to grab a toy he can't quite reach. He's yelling. I help him reach the toy, and put on Clifford. This calms the toddler down enough that I can clean up, and put everything away.
We watch Clifford for an hour. I try to sit and breathe, and actually feel like the day might get better. I eat some chocolate. Toddler gets some too. 11:00 rolls around, and I'm thinking about what to make for lunch. I'd put away a can of Spagetti-O's, but I'd also put away a pizza dough mix. I want to be a good mom. I go to make the pizza.
The toddler begins whining. 'The TV is off, because I don't want him getting too much screen time. I was trying to be a good mom. He's mad that mom is in the kitchen, and not currently playing with him. He's also now starving hungry. He sees me shredding cheese, and begins screaming for cheese, thus waking up the baby. I leave the baby to cry while I finish as quickly as I can, wiping the cheese crumbs into a bowl for a yelling toddler.
I get the baby, and decide to give him some pear, because I haven't given him anything besides formula today, and I really do need to get this kid some food. It's a perfect time because the pizza is cooking. I put him in his high chair, and begin to feed him pear. The toddler finishes his cheese, and decides this is a great time to climb the high chair. He knocks over the tray, he jolts the seat, scaring the baby, and earning himself a scolding. He feels unloved by mom, and begins playing with toys while crying.
Mom finishes feeding baby, places baby with toys on the floor, and baby begins to cry. Mom gets pizza out of the oven, and cut into pieces. She feels guilty for only having pizza for the toddler, so cuts up a tomato as well, and pulls together some pineapple chunks. Baby is still crying. Toddler is yelling because he knows food is in the kitchen, and does not have the cognitive capacity to understand that it is for him. Mom hauls him to his booster seat and straps him in. She runs to the kitchen and makes a bottle of formula for the crying infant who wanted no more pears, but perhaps wants formula? Mom throws a couple slices of pizza on a plate for herself as well, props baby in her arm and feeds him, while taking bites of pizza for herself.
Peace for a second.
The toddler is done, after eating four bites, maybe. I put the baby down to clean up the toddler. The baby cries from being interrupted. I throw the toddler's leftovers in the sink. I sit down to finish eating, myself, and feed the baby more. The toddler is angry I am not playing with him. I attempt to explain to him that I am still eating. He throws more toys around recklessly.
The baby spits up all over himself, and me. It is already his second shirt today. (There was another spit-up in there somewhere.) I move over to the couch with him, when I've finished eating. The light from the window reflects off my watch, casting a glowing orb over my side table. The cat attacks, and knocks my books over. The toddler grabs the books, and begins pulling on the pages with far from delicate hands. I'm telling him no. I'm trying to keep him from grabbing my Diet Pepsi. The baby isn't actually drinking, only arching his back and still crying and crying.
I know the toddler just wants attention. I try and talk to him about his toys, and his playing, while bicycling the baby's legs, assuming he has gas. This works for a couple precious minutes. Baby still crying. Toddler running towards the front door, saying he wants to leave. Obviously tired. Not going to happen. Toddler stands on the rug and, before I know it, has gagged himself with his finger, until he throws up on the rug. (I thought he'd grown out of this attention seeking thing with the vomit.)
I'm frustrated. I set the baby down, who cries, from being interrupted. I strip the toddler, who has vomit on himself, and put him in his room while I clean up. He smells like poop, but there's vomit on the floor and a crying baby. I let him loose in his room.
I clean up, then open the toddler's bedroom door to let him out. Baby wants to try drinking again. I give him more of the bottle. (He's still only had 2 ounces in the last hour that he's been awake.) The toddler climbs onto the couch, and I see the poop escaping up his back. I immediately put the, screaming again, baby down, and take the toddler to change his diaper. He has poop on his fingers and under his fingernails, from obviously investigating his dirty diaper, while he was alone in his room. I clean his fingers with a wipe as well. He accuses me of biting him. I want to bite him! I don't.
I'm feeding the baby again, who's still not eating, but still not happy. He doesn't want to lie down and play. He doesn't want to talk to me. He doesn't want to eat. But he is happy lying on my chest, so I let him do that. The toddler is not happy about this. The toddler is not happy in general, and really needs to go to sleep, but I don't have the time to help him lie down, without disrupting the baby again, which I don't want to do, and is the toddler drinking my Diet Pepsi? Stop it! Why can't he have mercy on me?!
At some point toddler places a megablock on my foot, and tries to stand on it! "Stop it! Just stop it!" I yell at the toddler, shoving him away. I begin to cry, and it's not just my foot. Tears falling down my face. Two people in audience, and do either of them care? Nope. Nobody cares. I'm never alone, but I'm completely alone. "Cry." the toddler notices. Thank goodness, I think. Maybe he'll be nice to me now. He climbs up on the couch next to me, and... proceeds to poke at my face. "Eyebrow."
I have to go to the bathroom. I lay the baby on the bathroom rug, and keep the door propped open, so the toddler can come in if he wants to. He tells me, "Bye bye," and closes the bathroom door, successfully locking himself out. I want to smile. The baby is happily chewing on a foam letter. I hear the toddler in the hallway trying to climb into the baby's walker, which happens regularly. He's stuck, yelling "Stuck!" and crying. I feel smug about it, very much thinking, "I told you so." But then I imagine him trying to get himself out, re-breaking his femur, and so I hurry and finish to go and save him.
He's fine. He got out on his own. I lay the baby down in the living room to continue chewing on his foam letter. It's a mess. I know I'll feel better if I can clean it. Someone knocks on the door. Are my eyes still red from crying? Still have spit-up all over my shirt?
I open the door and step outside, closing the door behind me, to keep the cat in. It's the Spanish Elders. I tell them who in the building speaks Spanish, and let them know that if there's anything we can ever do to help them, we will.
The baby is finally ready to go to sleep, so I put him down. I convince the toddler to help me clean up. He picks out a book, and I read it to him in bed, as is the routine. He always screams when I close the door for him, like it's a surprise, every single time.
It's blessed naptime. I wrote this, and yes, the baby has just stirred back awake.
And I have work tonight.
No rest for the wicked.

The Memory of Moments

You’ve been thinking of memories

Of a place that you’ve been –

A place that, unfortunately,

You’ll likely never get to again.

Little flashbacks, you’re having,

Of inconsequential things.

Walking out of a grocery store off main,

Down the road from construction, and doors.

It’s dancing in a living room one night

On a faded brown carpet

With a large singed portion

Which the Elders burned before your time.

It’s mounting a snow heap,

Feeling victorious in heavy snow boots,

Laughing through wind blowing sideways

Just before a dinner appointment.

It’s feeling your fleece lined leggings

Underneath your skirt,

Remembering the feeling of heavy socks

Worn over top, and up the calf.

It’s a cathedral on a hill,

Dinner in an Indian restaurant,

Waiting in line at a Subway,

Discovering Bulk Barn for that first time.

Buying stamps and looking at cards

Down the road from the poutine joint.

Seeing the weather broadcasted in Celsius

To the apartment lobby in the morning.

It’s eating lunch under that tree.

It must have been a Saturday,

Because there were no kids at the school.

We took our shoes off. I wanted to cry.

It’s that centipede we found in our apartment.

That frog I caught in my scripture case.

Our umbrella flipping upside down in the rain,

And our running back for home and the car, laughing.

It’s that conversation with that bus driver.

It’s that first day emailing home in the library.

It was discovering a new city,

And pushing cars out of snowbanks.

It’s that vague recollection of ringing a buzzer

To see if someone was home.

They weren’t. We left.

But I remember ringing that buzzer.

These are memories that I cannot share.

No one will know

The places that I have been.

The feelings that I have had.

I long to visit the places of the past,

Though I fear that this longing

Will never be satiated,

As I will never be right there again.

It will never be quite the same.

I realized this in the middle of the night.

A crying baby needed me.

A bottle was given.

A diaper needed changing.

I placed him on a changing table

And stretched, my hands to the ceiling.

He stretched too,

An exact mirror image of me.

I will never be here again.

These moments no camera will record.

The moments that open your eyes,

When you experience things deeply.

My past is just that. My own.

It will never be known.

I can show you the streets, but to you,

They will only be fresh, new things.

I can’t show you my heart.

I can’t show you the fog that rolled in.

How surreal it was when I wrote it

In a dark room, under its immaterial glow.

They are memories of moments.

They are unknowable, but to me.

The longing ache I feel for that past

Can never be fully redeemed.