Silly Me

Just when I think I've got a handle on things I crumble into a cynical pile of self-pity. I've come to a point where I can successfully wrangle both kids at one time for lengthly periods by myself if absolutley necessary. Usually this is accomplished without more than one of us in tears; sometimes all three of us are melting down. But for the most part I feel we're fairly functional. We've had a lot of changes the last three months and I guess now that I'm writing about it, we've all done pretty well. A new baby, a lot of time in Harvey after Olivia was born, an attempt (failed) at potty training, me going back to work and the girls to two different daycares for two weeks, and now an entirely new daycare for Elaina. They're at the same place now so that's good. My pity pot is currently filled with complaints like 'I hate dropping them off at daycare' and 'All I do is cook, eat (if I'm lucky), clean up supper and do laundry' and 'I don't have enough time with my kids' and 'I want a house' and 'I'm sick of being at the bottom of the totem pole' and other things that I allow to keep me from being the person that I want to be. Which is the perfect mom, teacher, and wife. None of which I am accomplishing. And I know that I'm doing fine, the kids are happy, the floors and laundry can wait, I should give myself more credit, and BLAH BLAH BLAH. If telling myself those things worked, I wouldn't be feeling sorry for myself now would I?