I'm Feeling Overwhelmed

This week, I found myself sitting in my car on the way to work, on Route 2, in stopped traffic, crying to my husband on the phone, with a wailing Annabelle in the back seat. It was, by all accounts, not one of my best moments.

You see, my commute to work, from Cambridge to Waltham, is 11.9 miles. Google Maps helpfully tells me this should take me 20 minutes. However, in reality, in winter, in Massachusetts, with a foot of badly plowed snow on the ground and hundreds of Masshole drivers, this commute takes me 3 times that.

On this morning, I sit, white knuckled, as I miss stoplight after stoplight. And bleary-eyed, I try to concentrate on the radio news as Belle drops her binky for the 87th time and starts to fuss. The fussing slowly builds to a low wail. Then, while nearing the end of my commute and trying to merge onto 128 while at the same time aggressively trying to prevent cars from jumping the long line of traffic and merging INTO me, Belle starts to scream. Binky is no longer in reach. I am already late for work and I know I still have 30 minutes of traffic ahead of me. Belle is inconsolable. NPR is giving me the rundown of the most depressing things that have happened in the world today.

It is at this point that I do the only thing I can think to do. I call my husband.

Mike answers with fear in his voice, because clearly if I am calling him at this hour something is gravely wrong.

“What it is it?” he asks.

“I can’t do it. I can’t do this. This commute. She’s crying. I can’t listen to this anymore. This isn’t going to work.”

And as her shrieks pick up from the back seat, I find myself starting to cry. My daughter and I are having a meltdown. Together, in this small car, in traffic, we are collectively losing it. And my poor husband, on his own commute to work, is listening to two blubbering ladies blubber on.

He asks what he can do to help (nothing). He sympathizes. He assures us things will be ok.

And he is right. Things will be ok. And by the time I make it to work, they are. But these moments, these meltdowns, they seem to happen a lot. So often, in fact, that Mike and I have put a word to them. When they happen, we just look at each other and say, “I’m feeling overwhelmed.” And immediately, we know what this means.

Because at the time I was sitting on Route 2, I was feeling overwhelmed by Belle’s crying and the day-to-day minutia of keeping another human alive. By the frequent feedings and diaper changes and too-short naps and the complicated outfits and the endless pumping sessions. By daycare drop-offs, and developmental milestones, and sleep training. Overwhelmed with the stuff, with the toys and tiny clothes and Rock and Plays and Jumparoos and millions of other things exploding out of our 700 square foot apartment, which is now, never, ever, even for a split second, clean. I’m overwhelmed by the heavy diaper bags and smelly bottle bags and dowdy breast pump bags that I try to juggle while also carrying Belle in her bulky car seat up and down stairs and through doors. By pacifiers constantly falling out of smiling mouths. By tiny bibs soaked in an endless stream of baby drool.

I am overwhelmed by my job, and with the daily commutes and deadlines and details and the challenging and rewarding work I get to do each day. I am overwhelmed by the generosity of my colleagues who picked up the slack when I took 16 weeks off from work to fall in love with my daughter and who still pick up the slack when my overtaxed brain starts to sputter.

I am overwhelmed with the idea that I am tasked with trying to keep another person – my husband – happy when I can barely scrape myself off the couch after Belle goes to bed. And I am overwhelmed with joy when I see Mike and Annabelle together and I realize what an incredible father he is to Annabelle, and partner he is to me. And I am just plain overwhelmed when I think of how lucky we are to have gotten pregnant and have delivered a healthy baby girl. That Mike and I get to wake up each morning with more happiness in our lives than we could have ever imagined.

That morning, and every morning, I was feeling completely and utterly overwhelmed by love for Annabelle, my perfect, amazing daughter who was crying her face off in the back seat of my car.

This new life of mine, this life of working mother and wife, is overwhelming. And 99% of the time I feel happier than I have in my entire life. But that 1%. Man, those times are tough. At those times, I really do feel like it is all too much. But in reality, I should be thankful for those moments. Because they are just an indication of how full my life has become. And I wouldn't change a thing.

The Power of a Good Deed

I did a good deed on my walk home from work today.

It was one of those, "Man, if I'm ever in that moment, I'm going to help" kind of situations. And, this time, I stepped up to the task. (Truth be told, I walked by at first and then turned around to help after about 10 seconds of deep thought.)

It doesn't matter exactly what I did or how much time it took; those details aren't important. In fact, if I told you, it would cheapen the act. That's kind of how those things go. As soon as the guy I was helping asked if he could buy me a beer or compensate me in some way, I said, "Of course not, man. Just pay it forward. Help someone else."

You might ask why I'm telling you this. Why am I writing this on a public forum? Do I want an award? A pat on the back? A parade? Do I want you to look at me differently the next time you see me and think, "That Mike, he's a good dude." No, none of those. (Although it would be cool if you think I'm a good dude.)

I'm telling you this because of the amazing transformation the moment had on my day and my week.

I've been stressed lately. We have to figure out how to pay for daycare. Someone stole my damn laptop. Our rent is going way up. Work is busier than ever. And, there's this little life-changing miracle thing that's about 10 weeks away. (I am, of course, incredibly excited about the miracle, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't petrified.) So, I've been stressed. And it's so easy to focus on those things.

You probably feel the same way. Some of you probably have way more stress and hardship in your life; some of you probably have less. That's how the world works. And most days, you probably come home from work and think about what went wrong. You think about the never-ending to-do list, the trip to the gym you'll definitely make tomorrow, or your awful commute. It can get easy to grow bitter and resentful and angry.

So, then, here's an idea that I'm going to try to make a habit in my own life: Focus on other people. Focus on helping others and, in the process, you'll help yourself. The high you get from lending a hand is far greater than the one you get from raising your own. (There's a cool TED Talk about how money can buy you happiness -- if you spend it on other people. Check it out.)

And, yes, this is a blog post about only one deed on only one day. Yes, I'm only 32. Yes, I still have a lot to learn. Yes, I still have a lot of hardships ahead of me. But isn't it better to approach all those hardships with a positive attitude and a focus on helping others?

I think so. I hope you do, too.

Choosing Chores

First off, this picture is stupid. And this couple is full of crap. No one gets excited (!!!!) about chores. No one smiles when they do chores. And no one uses those perfect "chore clothes" like bandanas, cuffed jeans, or well-worn waffle shirts. So I really dislike this couple.

I don't, however, dislike chores.

This may seem odd (particularly to the fairer sex that may be reading), but I have always felt good about getting things done. I used to turn around when I was mowing the lawn because I could see what I'd accomplished. Same goes for washing a dish or vacuuming a floor. Food scraps are disappearing and dirt is being sucked. There's progress.

Now, it's not that I look forward to doing these things, but I think my willingness to do them makes Bridget's heart smile. Often, as I'm doing something to better the apartment, she says, "Who's the best husband?" (And I'm fairly certain she's referring to me.) I truly believe the breakdown of chores is one of the most important parts of a relationship -- marriage or roommates. No one wants to live with Pig-Pen. No one wants to live in a sty.

So here's our breakdown, which I think has contributed to a very successful 5.5 months of marriage:

Mike: Take out the trash, pretend to know how to fix things, cook (most of the time), vacuum, and grocery shop

Bridget: Do the laundry, put furniture together, cook (the rest of the time), pay the bills, and clean the bathroom

There is, of course, some overlap (she often comes grocery shopping and I often fold towels), and I didn't include stuff like dusting, unloading the dishwasher, or cleaning the floors, which are usually coin flips. But this breakdown plays to our strengths and, for the most part, keeps us both busy, content, and free of aggressive dust clouds.

So what do you think? Who is getting off easy? And, more importantly, how do the chores break down in your humble abode?