I think I have that.
It’s always worse at this time of year. Now with a baby and spring on the doorstep it’s worse than it’s ever been.
My house is a mess. Now that the sun has come out, my garden is awash in weeds.
What were cute little balls of fluff 8 weeks ago are now a horde of hungry hens eating me out of house and home.
The slugs have eaten every tender morsel my hubby has set out under the row covers, despite his homemade beer traps (which are eating up our rapidly diminishing stock of home brew).
The rhubarb is poking its head out and I still haven’t gotten around to canning the harvest I hastily chopped and tossed in the freezer from last spring. It stares at me accusingly every time I open the door.
My basement is overrun with pots and seedlings and grow lights and every type of veggie baby imaginable.
I haven’t blogged in what seems like dogs years.
I read other blogs by other women who are at home with kids, doing the urban homestead thing and writing to boot. Their lives always sound so adventurous, productive, industrious.
Nothing like the chicken-without-a-head I am on a regular basis.
How do they do it?
I look around my house – at the floors that need scrubbing, the half-done mound of laundry, dishes in the sink, the general disorganization, the time I spend working instead of playing with my boy and think about the fact that it is quarter to five and I haven’t even thought about dinner . . .
All I can think is – Why do I do this to myself? Is it worth it? Maybe I should just leave the renegade homemaking to the renegades and call Molly Maid. Really. They have a special on. I could just do it. No one would have to know.
Last night we ate organic homegrown quail that we carefully brined and rested for two days. Organic. Clean. Beautiful. Homemade croutons and a ceaser salad with dressing made from scratch with eggs from our own hens and garlic I grew myself.
Tonight all I want is to order pizza.
We are planning on another child and I can’t foresee a future with another baby where the sky does not fall down around me. I cannot imagine how I will juggle our urban farm (which frankly is almost exclusively my hubby’s domain since baby number one), my busy household, my writing, and my marketing career. I look ahead to school days and our discussions about homeschooling and I just want to throw up.
I know I am so blessed to have the opportunity to work at home and raise my child. I just don’t know how to make the most of it. How to be a mom without becoming a martyr.
Where is the middle ground? Where my house is tidy, if not spotless, the garden is tended and the food gets put by on time? Where I don’t have these moments of overwhelming guilt and frustration because my life is coming apart at it’s over-ambitious hand-sewn seams?
How do I get there? How do I cure my urban homesteading-itis?