Courage under fire

During the ski season I often congratulated Devon over the fact that he was extremely blase about the fact that all day I cater to small people who are not him. When we are at the nursery I make it clear that although I love him, I am not overly available to him between the hours of 8 a.m. and 3:30 p.m. It never really seemed to faze him, and why would it? He had oodles of gorgeous young things oohing and ahing over his every step. They played with him, tickled his heinie during diaper changes and rubbed his back at nap time. Why would he need me? Or so I thought.
Turns out he saved up all his needs. Until. Now. Yes sireeee. I can’t walk anywhere without the frantic cries of, “Mai-Maiiiiiiiiiii! I neeeeeeeeeeed you. Now! I come with you. Nowwwwwwwww!” Preschool with the lovely Maggie and British Jan? Nope. “No want go, Mai- Mai! I stay with you this day.” Nap time? Again, no. Dinner? No fucking way, not unless I sit my ass down right next to his high chair to dine. Buzz Light Year? Nu-huh. Much better with Mai-Mai in the next seat.
While I should be flattered at the sudden attention of any living and breathing soul, I am about to tear my hair out and huddle in a corner. I have a nasty case of GAD for fuck’s sake, and I am flying unmedicated at the moment. I need to be left alone as much as possible, un-mussed and un-fussed. Today Devon decided that rather than nap he would unzip his pajamas, which he declared he would leave on for his morning of preschool, undo his diaper and try to climb out of his crib in an effort to find me. My brother found him with one chubby leg foisted over the edge of the crib while his bits and pieces hung in a most squished and precarious position against the crib railing, thus the screaming for none other than Mai-Mai. Devon then got up and joined me in my office where I was trying to finish up a brochure for a client friend for her non-profit cancer help foundation. He had other ideas in mind than my productivity which he explained to me as climbed behind me on the chair and entwined himself around my neck like some sort of blonde, toddler sized boa constrictor. I then got out a bunch of his toys and set him to play on the floor next to my drafting table. All was well until about 10 minutes later when what I thought might be an April shower turned out to be a shower of a far different kind. Yes, all over a pile of papers. That is when I decided to call off any sort of work and spend time with The Vanilla Tyrant.
Later when my mom asked me how I was, I told her I was seriously thinking about going back to work full time. I told her that I could likely get a position back at the bank as a loan hostess. I told her I was so over this work at home shit. I was done trying to make the design gig work since I can’t get any work done and I seem to work purely on a pro bono basis. I was finished with posting about parenting when I am so obviously the Least Effective Mother. Ever. She looked at me for a bit of a moment and came back with, “Honey, you would last maybe six months tops at the bank. And even if you managed to stay that long, none of us would want to live with you. You were meant to paint. Let’s work out a schedule and I’ll help more with that little one.”
So here we are. Another day. Not much accomplished. More messes made. My fingertips feel as if they have been flayed and dipped in salt. My mother gave me a huge pep talk about how far we have come in the last 10 months. No, I am not making any sort of impressive income, but as she assured me that is okay right now. There are not too many times in a person’s life that that comment can hold true, so I am sticking with it for tonight. What else is there at the moment?