Life these days

Is kind of crazy.

I think every friend, relative and FB acquaintance is tired of hearing my repetitive response to "How are you/things/life?"

"Crazy." "Crazy busy." "Kind of nuts."

I'm 3 weeks into the 10 week mayhem that is my fall. The four Women PeaceMakers and the four Peace Writers they are paired with have arrived in San Diego, and while we all survived the 2 week intensive orientation training, I have returned to a mountain of unanswered e-mail and a 2.5 ft x 3.5 ft. white board To Do list, filled in emergency red. I feel like every day I wake up in the night or early morning, head filled with undone tasks, and then get to work only to find an avalanche of new requests coming in. I feel like I'm being buried in a sand pit; all attempts at climbing out are futile.

At home (or rushing around at work, feeling contractions a little too often), I remember I'm also 7.5 months pregnant. And mom to a toddler. And wife to a fantastic, but lately neglected husband. While trying to plan a homebirth at the 11th hour, and do a homework-intensive self-study birth preparation course.

So, while I love my job (and this time of year is what it's all about), adore my family, am excited and thrilled and anxious about the birth of our son (including these rushed preparations)... it is making for a crazy life at the moment.

So if that's my answer to your question, I'm sorry. I expect you'll get tired of asking and I don't blame you. It will likely be the same answer for the next two months, after which our lives will be a whole new kind of crazy...

And I'm very much looking forward to that.

My first heartbreak

They warned me there'd be a day where those dreaded words would come...

"I hate you Mama!"

I'm prepared for that. I imagine they'll be said in (hopefully) a fit of rage, after she hasn't gotten her own way... I hope she won't mean it; that what she hates is a decision, an action, not me.

What I wasn't prepared for was 8:30 p.m. on a Friday night, no rage in sight. A smiling, happy little two year old, brushing her teeth with me at the mirror, warm in her PJ's, about to choose a bedtime story...

"I want to sleep with Dada."

At first it didn't really sink in. There might have even been a moment of relief - boy, that makes things easier! Last week we bought (and I assembled) a huge, full-size twin "kids" bed from IKEA, complete with star canopy (it flips into a bunk bed when needed). The plan was to have B and I take turns sleeping in there with her, until she was back to sleeping through the night and he could put her down and go to her if she woke; freeing me to nurse and care for the newborn we'll have in 10 short weeks.

Tonight was supposed to be my night with her. Last night was B's, but she asked for me, so I joined them for the first few hours before slipping out to our more comfortable and spacious bed for a much-needed pass-out after a very long week.

I realized was a bit taken back by the certainty of this new request.

"You don't want to sleep with Mama?"

"No. T sleep in T's big girl bed with Dada."

Oh. She means it. She doesn't want me tonight. She'd prefer Dada.

I managed to hold it together till I'd conveyed the message and B had gone to put on his pajamas. Hiding in the kitchen in tears, I tried to reason with my emotions. Listening to them chatter as they got ready for bed, T telling him again about their day together, even including me and her "little brother" in an imaginary car ride, I knew I should feel happiness; pride that my daughter and her father had grown so close. That she felt so comfortable with him now. Even practically, that this was a necessary development that we'd been stressing and strategizing about in preparation for the baby coming. I should be thrilled.

Instead I felt like my first crush had just asked another girl to the dance. At the root of my heartbreak was the realization that her words had spoken to my biggest fear, that my desire to work would render me an absentee parent who's main function was to bring home a paycheck. That "Dada" would be the one to run to for comfort or to share celebration. The one she'd prefer read her a bedtime story or snuggled with as she went to sleep. The one she could trust to be there for her.

I understand this may seem trivial to many. I am having a hard time wrapping my head around why such a simple request hit such a nerve. Maybe I can blame hormones for my heightened sensitivity.

All I know is that about 30 minutes after I started this post, I heard a familiar voice call "I want Mama..." I don't think I even brushed my teeth before jumping into bed beside a squished B and a familiarly splayed-out 2 year old. I buried my nose in her hair and she threw her arm around my neck plonking her cheek on my forehead. I think it's the best sleep I've had in months.