My Brain is fried. Only works in fragments, short bursts, and with To Do lists.
My Patience is worn thin. The child has broken my Spirit and my Cool several times today and it’s not yet dinnertime. The most common phrase in this household today: “Leave your Sister Alone.” (Small blessing: He loves her so much. Unfortunately so much that he is always in her face kissing her and kissing her AND kissing her. Kissing her while I’m nursing. Um, yeah it’s annoying. Kissing her while I’m changing her diaper. Um, yeah it’s annoying. ) Also, he has selective hearing and a strong will of his own. Apparently in his mind, all instructions and directives are optional until said a 4th time. I think maybe on the 4th time, our voice not only carries the sound of irritation and exasperation but the vein starts bulging out.
I’m not saying the Baby is manipulative…..yet. But if she is awake, she is fussing to be held. Hubby thinks I have spoiled her and that I hold her too much. However, listening to her cry when my patience is already thin with the Boy really isn’t an option. So into the baby carrier she goes. I’d rather ruin my back than listen to a crying baby. (I’m currently typing one-handed as she is in my other arm.)
I hate to think that battle lines are drawn. It’s us versus our children. Aren’t we suppose to be on the same team? But Hubby & I are frazzled. You can hear it in our voices. We are about two temper tantrums away from turning on each other. We are tired of taking turns, giving each other a break. This life is exhausting no matter how you look at it. I suppose that’s the nature of this stage. And I tell myself this whining, this crying, this sleep deprivation is just a stage. We are about to turn the corner. But are we really?
Right now it’s relatively calm. The Baby is happily sitting with me. The Boy is happily playing downstairs in his overstocked toy room. The Hubby is putzing around the house. I am regrouping with my writing rant (Writing = Therapy) before I start dinner. I am also trying to not look around the house which is in its usual state of disaster.
No one ever wants to admit that sometimes being locked up in a small white room by yourself would be blissful. Imagine the silence. Imagine the clean white walls. Just Imagine. But I know I’d last about 15 minutes, ok, more like 30 minutes before I start missing my children, before I start wondering what they are doing, before I want to see them and kiss them. At least that’s what happens to me when I do get a break, like this morning when I was getting my nails done. 30 minutes later I was texting Hubby for an update.
My children are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I am just tested daily about my worthiness as a parent. Yes, I wish I didn’t find some days so difficult. Yes, I can admit that some days, or a string of days, are much harder than others. Yes, I have accepted the fact that I will always love my children, I just won’t always like what they do. I have accepted that my children won’t always like what I do either (Hopefully, if I am fortunate, they will love me even through the difficult days.). And that’s ok to admit.
At the end of a difficult day, I self-medicated with 30 minutes of mindless exercising on the treadmill until the sweat and endorphins kicked in. As much as I want the cookies and beer, I’d like to keep up with my Kiddos and figured I can’t be weighed down. I’d like to have this parenting gig for a long time, at the very least until I see my grandchildren (also known as Payback).
