Beggars can’t be Choosers

I just started a conversation with the husband over a tangent in a casual conversation and now I am over analyzing another concern of parenthood.

**** Disclaimer: Now this is in abstraction, if you have sat for us it is not me picking on you, this is me looking at myself as a parent. This is about my choices, enforcements and guts: the lack there of rather.****

I am desperate for babysitters, all the time. I even pay my friends who don’t ask for it (if they let me), because I always need babysitters.
One time I saw a friend asking for a sitter on facebook and I volunteered. I don’t get to watch other kids often, nor do I get to spend time with this friend and her child, EVER. She turned me down. It was because I volunteered to pick up the child and bring him to my home in another city for the evening. Or so she says )
I had a few thoughts: 1) What?! Who turns down free babysitting 2) Holy crap she has her kid on a schedule?! Jealous. 3) I wish I had that kind of freedom with child care providers, to be able to say no because the circumstances are not best for my kids’ well being.

Crap I am awful at this parenthood thing, which is in fact, true.

I am very frustrated with my living circumstances, my working hours and my lack of income in regards to the happiness, health and stability of my family unit. But I am desperate, so I have very little say about how or where anyone watches my children. Which leaves me open to a lot more guilt and to be melodramatic: danger.
 I.E. My mom is our current “daycare” and the one thing that drives me nuts: she smokes in front of and near my children.

On her side: she absolutely loves my girls. She comes over at 645am two to three times a week to watch them while we work. She bathes my kids because I don’t have a bathtub at my place. While she is here she does dishes and helps take care of the grandma we live with, who is not her mother. She is pretty much amazing. She is my mom. I have her back. I actually defend her a lot for smoking because its her vice. I’m fat; I know vices; I defend her from the forces of health and perfection (cough, cough, my sister).
But I feel like I should say something, because these are MY kids. However because she smoked while pregnant with me and throughout my whole childhood, I feel like I can’t. Twisted and cowardly, but still difficult.

The same things goes with discipline, but that is a very personal can of worms that  I am not going to open. Though it has nothing to do with my mother or any other specific sitter. Just concerns that cross my mind that I don’t vocalize or that I hold my tongue until a better moment arises and once that moment is present: forget.


Sometimes I hear Monica Moonlight in my head telling me “You need a change of life”.

(Side note: I have completely forgotten correct punctuation laws, forgive me).

MM was a coworker in Denver, CO. She is the most unique person I have ever met and her joy and confidence are mesmerizing. Now to why I am in need of a change of life:

(No worries, this doesn’t mean I am going to run off with my secretary, move to New Mexico to start a lemonade stand. For starters, I don’t have a secretary! Ha. No? No? Oh well.)

No, what this means is that I need to change the way  I live. I need to live my life in a way that is best for me and my family. I.e. I need to stop playing video games when I should be reading to my kids. (If they would let me read to them when I actually get around to trying).
I need to communicate what upsets me about my life so that it gets addressed and steps are made to correct/ compromise a solution to the concern.
I need to be able to hold myself and my husband accountable for said changes/ results.
I need help.
As I mentioned above, I am desperate. What is so revolting is that it is true in every aspect of my life.

I am desperate for babysitters. I am desperate for my three year old to go on the potty. I am desperate to get my job done, feel accomplished at the end of the day and have a boss/bosses who actually thank me for my dedication! I am desperate for someone to understand me. I am desperate for people to take me seriously. I am desperate for my husband to appreciate me, to see all the things I do for him and all the things I hold back from saying. I am desperate to be a good mother. I am desperate for a spiritual awakening. I am desperate to not be here (at this stage in my life) anymore.

This got heavier than I thought. Sigh.


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