Coming off a few days of Hell....
"You must have your hands full"
I hear that a lot. And I always laugh and say "yes I do". And while I love my daughters (and my son), I do need to vent for a bit.
We had the evening from Hell the other night. My grandfather was in town and thus we all wanted to get together to spend some quality family time. It was decided the best time to do so was Saturday night, for a dinner out. My mother wanted to go to where my BIL was working as a restaurant manager: the restaurant has a 'tiki bar' during the summer on a pond they have on the property.
I was not a fan of this plan. The timing was bad, it was over an hour away, and it was going to screw up my pumping schedule as well as the girls' sleeping schedule. Not to mention that there was going to be nothing for us to eat since we keep kosher. But I was outvoted and against my (and my husband's) better judgement, we agreed.
It was a disaster. I won't go into that much detail, but suffice it to say that as soon as Meorah woke up from the car ride, she took one look at all the faces, heard the loud noise from the band/people and started screaming.
And didn't stop for over an hour.
That hour was spent with Jason or myself trying to calm her down while everyone else had a good time. It wasn't until about half-way through that people started offering to help. For that first half hour, Jason and I just separated ourselves away while everyone else was having a great time and we were left to deal with two screaming babies (Tzelia likes to sympathy cry, so once Meorah starts she'll get into it as well). Finally people started to offer to help and allowed us to actually eat something (another rant I won't get into...lack of food...what's the point in inviting someone out to dinner when you know they can't eat anything there? Would you ask a vegetarian to a steakhouse?) but I found it disheartening how people love to offer to help, but when it comes down to it, people just like happy babies. Everyone is willing to help and hold or feed a happy baby. When the going gets tough, people start to scatter. Jason and I used to look forward to family get togethers, but not so much anymore...we know it will end with the two of us dealing with an unhappy baby up past her bedtime, while everyone else is having fun and conversations... Eating will be in two minutes caught in between trying to keep two babies calm and Zev occupied. Misery. More stress than fun.
Granted towards the end people helped. My dad was good at taking Meorah for a bit while Jason tried to eat something (really bad pizza, pie, and cornbread. Fantastic). And my grandfather kept Zev occupied. But why did it take half an hour of screaming before anyone noticed how miserable we were?
The only good thing that came out of the hour of torture: evidence that it was unrealistic to expect us to be able to do this. Why make the people with the most hardship travel the furthest and go through the most difficulty? And my the worst part? My grandfather's comment to Jason at the end: "We could have come out to you".
Sigh. What hurts me the most is that my grandfather didn't get a chance to really meet my daughters. They were too upset the entire time. And I felt bad for them: all they wanted to do was go to sleep. They didn't want to be forced out of the house in a loud environment around strange people, noises, and smells.
Zev at least had a good time. And that was the rationale of meeting there: there was a nice little play area for him. But unfortunately it was a bad idea for the other four members of his immediate family. We decided: never again. Dinners out with extended family are no longer an option for us unless it is VERY local.
Life is hard. Last night Meorah decided to get up every 2 hours for no real reason. So this vent is coming off of a few days of hell.
As a totally unrelated note, I had a surgery consult yesterday and will follow up on that in another post.
I'm sick of babies.