I am sitting on my front steps with my head in my hands taking deep breaths, trying to stop shaking. My neighbor drives by and says, “Is it really that bad?” I throw up my hands, “Yes!”
I had originally planned on writing about something sweet and kind, something about my lovely children, something about the joys of motherhood. And then this L O N G Memorial Day weekend happened and I just don’t have it in me.
Want to hear about it?
For this unofficial start of the summer weekend, we had a ton of fun, kid-oriented activities planned. The weather was fabulous. It should have been a picture perfect family weekend. And there were wonderful moments (that you know I captured for Facebook world) but there were also hours (and hours) of cranky, whiney, misbehaving, clingy, bored kids. I can’t tell you how many times I lost it with my older son. I never knew I had it in me to yell like I did. Then, of course, the guilt overwhelms me and I hug him and apologize. Then he does something naughty again and I lose it again. This cycle played out for three very long days.
Then there’s the little one – my sweet, smiley 15 month old. Between teething like crazy and allergies, he was a drippy, miserable mess. I spent most of the weekend with him on my hip or him pulling on my clothes (my apologies to the people at Price Chopper Saturday morning that got a full view of my bra).
Moments before my neighbor drove by me, the little one threw his milk across the room and dumped a plate full of waffles with syrup on the floor. While I was picking sticky waffles off the rug, the big one shoved the little one, I yelled, and both stood there screaming. Ahhh! I just needed to escape! For a few seconds, just get me out of here! So I headed toward the front door (which always gets the little one frantically screaming even louder), and I sat on my front steps, head collapsed in my hands. A few seconds later, I took a deep breath and went back inside (and yep, apologized) and started counting down the minutes until nap time. The long, lazy, Memorial Day weekend that everyone else in the world didn’t want to see end could not end fast enough for me.
The purpose of this post is not to complain (ok, maybe it is a little) but more importantly to recognize the difference between disliking a situation and disliking my place in life. I have a good life. I love my children more than words can express. They are healthy. I know how lucky I am. But that doesn’t negate the fact that being a parent is freaking hard. Whether you’re a stay at home mom or a work outside of the house momma, it is freaking HARD. It’s ok to
dislike hate parts of it. It’s ok to escape to the front steps, or bathroom, or car, or the grocery store.
We all have tough days (or weekends) and during those times it’s ok to say “THIS SUCKS.” Cause sometimes, yes, it IS that bad, and there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging it.