The Fourteen Month Itch

The time has come again. It seems every time I reproduce, approximately fourteen months later, I have an existential crisis. It took me a while to categorize it as such rather than calling it "losing my shit" which was my general terminology previously. When I looked it up and found the definition "the psychologic panic and discomfort experienced when a human confronts the question of existence" - that pretty much hit the nail on the head. Let me 'splain.

When you first have a baby, all of your energy is focused on keeping this little being alive. The meaning of your existence is tied up in feeding, cleaning up excrement and sleep - or lack thereof. Then gradually, your offspring become more and more self sufficient. Time between feedings increases so you can actually get out of the house without a small human literally attached to you. He can play in his Exersaucer for fifteen minutes so you can shower regularly. He sleeps through the night and you finally stop feeling like a crazy, unwashed, lunatic who should be shuffling along the street muttering to herself wearing cardboard for shoes. Then the nursing ends and, before you know it, your little guy is eating sausage and broccoli rabe. He's napping for three predictable hours during the day and you realize he really doesn't need you, only you, to survive a day and the revelation is shocking.

Meanwhile, now that your brain is no longer atrophied by sleep deprivation, you start to have coherent thoughts again. Your every waking thought is not consumed with, "How long did he nurse?" or "When will he nap?". You start reading the newspaper again. You take a Mommy and Me class to meet other moms and set up some playdates to watch your kids stuff toys in their mouths while you compare notes on your lives as stay at home moms and maybe discuss your lives "before", but no one dares utter the truth. The truth that drove me to hysterics Tuesday morning as poor Hubby was trying to leave for work. STAYING AT HOME WITH YOUR KIDS CAN BE REALLY BORING. Yeah, I said it.

OK, let me qualify that. As I have said on countless occasions, being at home with my kids is a privilege as I get to experience all those great little things like The Underpants Game, but the day-to-day, non-crisis stuff really requires very little brain power. Sure, it takes some hard thinking when my daughter asks me what happens to a mouse when it dies (stupid thing drowned in the kiddie pool I forgot to drain), but sitting on the floor playing blocks with someone who has no powers of conversation yet can get old after about fifteen minutes no matter how damn cute he is.

As your baby is quickly becoming a toddler, you find you have more time and energy to think and now all that energy you used up stressing about infant-related issues is not being used up by your other SAHM duties. While it is physically and emotionally exhausting to care for three kids, I still have intellectual energy to spare. And while some women redirect that energy to have immaculately clean homes or becoming super-organized, sorting and labeling every item in their homes, I want to use it for other, selfish purposes.

Maybe it's just me, but I don't think so. I think our generation is in an interesting position. I think being educated with men and, therefore, developing the same dreams and ambitions we were given a gift and a burden. Is all of that supposed to evaporate once you reproduce? We have a clear picture of the path not taken, see many of our friends taking it, and think on some days, "I am too fucking smart to be doing this!"

One of my favorite authors Elizabeth Berg, writes about in The Pull of the Moon so beautifully I have to quote it:

"Remember the time Ruthie was napping on a Saturday afternoon and I sat in the living room literally tearing my hair out saying I was too smart to do this, that a chimpanzee could do what I was doing - better!, that I had to have more challenge and stimulation in my life or I was going to die? I remember you trying to help, suggesting I get a job, and how I screamed at you that I could never do that, I couldn't leave her with someone else. It is such a violent love, that of a mother for a young child. And I had to be there no matter what the cost. I knew I was missing some things, I could feel some brightness of the mind dulling; but on balance I loved what I did."

I sobbed when I read this for the first time because it so clearly stated what I couldn't. That even though I desperately wanted to many times, I could never leave my kids. And it is my own choice that is causing me to have this crisis.

So this brings us to Tuesday morning as I stand in the kitchen crying, cutting crusts off peanut butter sandwiches and tucking love notes to my kids in their lunch boxes, telling Hubby I need to accomplish something that has nothing to do with this family or will fling myself into traffic. The poor guy. He really does try, but when he suggested I get a babysitter one day a week to work on this rambling I call writing I snapped back, "Oh, sure! How can I justify a sitter and time to write when I can't even get the laundry folded and get dinner on the table?" I felt I barely had things under control as it was, never mind adding another ball to juggle. And the idea of taking money from our family so I could "find myself" seemed laughable.

This is exactly where I was three years ago when #2 was fourteen months*. Except this time Hubby and I were on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike as I sobbed. At that particular crossroads I decided to do some volunteer work and that developed into a stint as a medical aide at Planned Parenthood. It was amazing, leaving my kids for one and a half days a week and feeling like I was good at something other than wiping bottoms. I will forever be indebted to my mother in-law for making that possible. She saved my sanity, and that of her son and grandchildren.

So why the martyr act this time? Well, when I first thought about it , three kids seem like a lot to leave with someone and I felt even more selfish than doing it with two. But perhaps the strength and energy, physical and emotional, I need to care for my children is exactly what I will find when I take this next step. Because I have decided to take Hubby up on his offer and find a sitter. While it might seem more chaotic at first, I know from past experience, I will be a more balanced and better mother for it. Not matter how much time I have I will always be a somewhat disorganized mother. There will always be laundry to fold, dog hair needing to be vacuumed and, seriously, I really don't want to spend quality time with a label maker.

So wish me luck dear readers. Sittercity.com here I come.

*I did not experience this dilemma with daughter #1 as, by this point in her life, I had already managed to get myself accidentally knocked up and was obviously focused on my own terror at the idea of having two children less than two years apart.