For those of you who follow Straight From the Bottle (my other blog-- yes, just click on the giant photo of my face in the left-sidebar and there you are...) you will know that for the last week-ish I've been nanny shopping: sifting through the local L.A. lakes and rivulets for someone to help me.
Biting off more than I am able to chew, I have been on the verge of breakdown. Unable to sit still for so much as two seconds. Forgetting to eat. To swallow. To breathe. It came down to two options:
1. Get some help.
2. Steal a Maserati from the Paramount lot, (there are 7856 Maseratis in the Windsor gate parking area ALONE) pick up a hooker (preferably a bob-haired Suicide Girl) and go on a Bonnie and Clyde lesbo crime mission until we get busted and/or drive off of a ledge Thelma and Louise style...
Option #1 seemed like the more "adult" option so we had a "family meeting" and decided that in order to keep my head from exploding, a helper was in order. A nanny/babysitter/relief pitcher to aid in my SAHM needs so I have at least a few hours a week for W. The kind of W that is uninterrupted and requires (but is not limited to) headphones and triple soy lattes and getting lost in pages of manuscript so I can meet my deadlines with flying colors. So I can be proud of my work instead of afraid of it... putting so much pressure on myself to craft the perfect paragraph in sporadic windows of time that I end up working myself into a frenzy with pages of endless vowels and no consonants.
And so today, as I ramble on about having no time to ramble on, I am happy to report that I found someone. A nanny! And she's sweet and adorable and will start work next week, leaving me with ten whole hours of weekday work-time at my favorite office. And by this time next week, I'll be exhaling....
No more bitching and screaming and acting like a child and questioning and feeling estranged from myself. And torn. And overwhelmed. No more public tantrums or panic attacks or feeling like I have to do it all. Because no one can. It's impossible
So I forfeit my control-freakdom and acquiesce to relief that is help...
Because I need help, even if only for two half-days a week, so I can find myself again. Or at the very least, some of the missing pieces.