one month ago

It's been a month since Hubby left on deployment. It always amazes me at how long the days are and yet the weeks seem to fly by. We still have no real idea when he or the boat is coming back which makes this deployment more of a count-up than a count-down. That's okay though. This had the strong potential of being our last good bye. It makes it all seem a bit easier to handle knowing it's the last time I'll be watching the port side of the boat.

I feel like I ought to have more accomplished or to show for the last month. 30 days should have produced something tangible. I should have all these brilliant insights on parenting and deployments.

I don't.

I've been feeling a bit inadequate. I have this picture in my mind of what I should be doing. What the boys should be like. Somehow I never get reality to look like that picture.

The Bear is being 2. Testing all his limits. Trying to find his place in the world. His great achievement is being basically potty trained. He has the occasional accident; once or twice a week he'll catch himself as he starts to go in his undies. I never knew so much of my mood and self worth could be tied to using the potty. I have to remind myself that he's trying. We only started this process 3 weeks ago.

The Monkey is the ideal second child. He's mellow, sleeps well, and gives me the biggest smiles if he gets any attention at all. I started him on solid food a few weeks ago. 4 months is a bit early for my liking, but he was ready. He had been sleeping for 12 hours a night for 2 months and was suddenly waking up 3-4 times wanting to eat. He knew right what to do and is one of the neatest little eaters I've ever seen. (Except tonight. Tonight ended with carrots on his toes, in my hair, on the wall, and stuck in The Puppy's fur.) I worry that he doesn't get enough attention, but second children seem to survive.

My mom is here visiting for a few weeks. It's nice to have someone to talk to that can answer back in full sentences. She's been a big help. She made me go up to my room last night for an hour after dinner. I wasn't allowed to come out to clean up or do anything. I feel guilty asking for help though. I don't work so I should be able to handle this. Why do I feel like I need a break when I really don't do anything?

That's where we are. Or at least I am emotionally. Just feeling a bit blah. I know it will pass though. So that's why there's been a lack of posting lately. Maybe a little pity party will get it out of my system though.