For the last 3 and a half years, I'd like to think I have been a pretty patient, tolerant mother. Always finding a way to use my words, keep my voice at a reasonable level, and really just enjoy my kids - even in their worst moments. But lately? Not so much. It's almost as if these last few years have finally caught up to me, and my prize-winning performance has run its course. To say the least, lately, motherhood has been kicking my ass.
I keep telling fellow moms that I don't know whether it's my kids, or me. Are they both going through tough stages, or am I just being intolerant? Sure, Hannah's separation anxiety is in full force and I can not put her down these days, and Lyla's "questions phase" has grown to at least 800 per day. Probably more. But as the mom, aren't I supposed to just be able to handle these things? Sure, I have my Super-Mom days where I keep the 18lb baby on my hip all day and answer each and every one of Lyla's questions with grueling detail and explanation, all while juggling meal time, chores, and Lyla's love of crafts. But then there are what I call the mom-fail days.
Okay, that's not a very fair name for them, but at the end of one of these days, that's how I'm left feeling - like I failed. I should have done this. I should have been able to handle that. These are the days where the screams go right through me. Where the first "cause why???" that comes out of Lyla's mouth makes me want to go hide under a rock until this phase is over. Meltdowns from both kids are in full swing; from Hannah because I put her down for two seconds so I could pee, and Lyla because she refuses to walk to the bathroom and get a tissue herself. These are the days, the mom-fail days, where my vocal chords get to stretch their wings. "KNOCK IT OFF! GO TO YOUR ROOM! NO TV! NO DESSERT!" So again, I ask, is it them, or me? One mom told me "it's always them" - I like that, but I never, ever feel good at the end of these days. I've never let out a good scream and thought "man, that felt good". In fact, I'm pretty sure I usually un-do any punishing by simply feeling bad, and going into Lyla's room, curling her up on my lap, explaining why mommy got so upset, and then apologizing for my reaction - but not always. On mom-fail days, I stay upset. Because I stay upset, the next little thing she does sends her right back into her time out chair, without any chances. And it's always in these moments that Hannah is at her worst; flailing in my arms or scooting around on the floor begging to be picked up. On mom-fail days, whether it's them or me, it never settles down. It is non-stop, zero tolerance, constant yelling, absolute failure of a day - both with their actions and my ability to handle it.
On top of it, the day doesn't end at bedtime. Hannah has not slept for more than 3-4 hour chunks at night since her arrival 9 months ago, and it never fails that once I climb into our warm, cozy bed, the cries begin. Luckily, she goes back down easily - a quick nursing session or a pacifier-pop - but it's the constant broken sleep that leaves me exhausted and, particularly on these days, frustrated. "Come on, Hannah" I'll grunt from under the covers. Great. Now I'm upset with my little innocent baby after an entire day of pointing my toddler to the time-out chair in her room. All I want is to sleep it off and wake up with a fresh start, but I can't even do that.
Last week seemed like this vicious cycle was on repeat. I wake up tired, but want to have a good day. I decide to surprise Lyla with breakfast in bed. While flipping pancakes, I'm trying to brush off the day before by taking some cleansing breaths and concentrating on today. I start to think of fun things to do with the girls. Maybe the library for some new bedtime stories, and a trip to the mall to treat Lyla to her favorite giant soft pretzel. Just as I'm finished putting together Lyla's breakfast - blueberry pancakes, sliced fruit, and a juice box (usually just used for school), I am so excited to hear that she is awake over the monitor. I grab the tray of food and head into her room. "Good morning my girl! I made you some breakfast to eat in bed for a treat". Aaaaaaaand meltdown. She was so upset because usually when I make blueberry pancakes, I let her put the blueberries in. I can feel my blood start to boil but try to keep my cool, explaining that next time she can help mommy but that I wanted to surprise her. No dice. At this point, Hannah is blaring over the monitor, awake and in need of a diaper change and breakfast. I ended up throwing the pancakes away, which sent Lyla into an even further panicked tantrum. I just walked away, closing the bedroom door behind me when I went in to get Hannah, and had a meltdown myself. It was only 7am.
Last week was particularly bad. The worst I've felt as a parent, the worst I've seen Lyla behave, and the crankiest Hannah has been since her sad-belly days. I was so unbelievably overwhelmed, and on top of if all, sustained a foot injury that has prevented me from training and, potentially, even running the half marathon. As shitty as last week was, it makes me truly appreciate the good days, like today, where Lyla was so kind and sweet, and didn't have one time out. We did crafts, danced, watched TV and ate dessert. Now, the question again, is it them, or me? Sure, Lyla was great today, but I also felt back to my cool-calm-collected ways. So who was last week really about? Either way, I came out of it totally beat up.
