I hope so.
It’s 6am and you’re already awake.
An early morning after a string of middle of the night wake ups.
Babies needing nursed.
Nightmares needing to be chased away.
My early riser toddler waking up at 3 and asking if we can start the day.
And then again at 4.
Again at 5.
At 6, I give in and drag myself out of bed.
My body is worn and my mind is frayed.
My emotions are raw.
I know that you are not doing this on purpose...
But it sure feels like it.
I stumble out of my bed, desperate to keep you quiet so the baby sleeps for a few more precious moments.
“MOMMYYYYYYYY, I hungry? Can I have candy?!”
No sweet boy, you can’t have candy.
And he screams.
The first of many angry screams he will throw at me today.
I try my best to be patient.
I quietly speak firmly and kindly that “screaming is unacceptable” and ask him to “use his words”. He throws the remote at my head and screams again.
The baby begins to keen.
White.
Hot.
Rage.
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!”
This time I’m screaming.
My brain reminds me I’m the adult.
I’m supposed to be patient.
He’s only 3.
I don’t care.
I’m exhausted.
I’m worn.
I’m on day 1 million and five of too little sleep.
I can’t remember the last time I showered.
Or gotten to eat food alone.
I do everything for this small creature and he seems to hate me for it.
I snap.
“GO. BACK. TO. BED.”
I growl.
“AND DO NOT SCREAM.”
He runs back to his bed, tears streaming.
He knows mom is serious.
Because she is angry.
And I am angry so often.
Where did I go?
And when did I get replaced by this cascade of anger, sadness, guilt and exhaustion?
Who am I?
I don’t feel like a person.
I feel like Anger.
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry.”
He stands in the hallway, hesitant and repentant.
“I’m sorry.”
We hug, we apologize and we speak kindly.
I turn on a show for him and get him something to eat.
And I sit in the kitchen and cry into a towel.
Why is this so hard?
Why am I so overwhelmed?
It’s only 6:15 am and I am daydreaming of when the day can be OVER.
This is how our day starts and ends.
An endless tussle of “Who’s in charge here?”
And the overwhelming stream of onlookers who chime in are just so helpful.
“He needs a spanking!”
“I just use a very firm voice with my child and they know I mean business.”
“Well, HE’S in a mood today!”
Yes, that’s exactly what a heartbroken mom wants to hear about her first baby-
all of her darkest thoughts spoken out loud by those who don’t love her child.
I remember when he was a tiny spark of my life in my belly.
I remember holding his whole body in one hand.
I remember the fierceness of my love for him.
And I am overcome with
grief
confusion
embarrassment.
Over his battle towards me
Over my rage towards him
That I cannot make my own toddler behave
That I cannot make myself behave
That my little baby I promised to
Fight for
Love unconditionally
Advocate for
Champion
Has become my biggest competitor in my home.
I envy the breezy relationships I see between other mothers
(Better mothers, my brain tells me)
and their children.
I miss when you were small and I could do no wrong in your eyes.
When I was everything.
Maybe that’s why I rage- because you’ve realized I am not perfect.
You can sense I don’t know what I’m doing.
You can feel my own insecurities, my constant questions:
Am I doing the right thing?
Will you grow up to be a good man?
If you don’t, will it be my fault?
Do you know I love you?
Is it enough to cover my mistakes?
I hope so.
An early morning after a string of middle of the night wake ups.
Babies needing nursed.
Nightmares needing to be chased away.
My early riser toddler waking up at 3 and asking if we can start the day.
And then again at 4.
Again at 5.
At 6, I give in and drag myself out of bed.
My body is worn and my mind is frayed.
My emotions are raw.
I know that you are not doing this on purpose...
But it sure feels like it.
I stumble out of my bed, desperate to keep you quiet so the baby sleeps for a few more precious moments.
“MOMMYYYYYYYY, I hungry? Can I have candy?!”
No sweet boy, you can’t have candy.
And he screams.
The first of many angry screams he will throw at me today.
I try my best to be patient.
I quietly speak firmly and kindly that “screaming is unacceptable” and ask him to “use his words”. He throws the remote at my head and screams again.
The baby begins to keen.
White.
Hot.
Rage.
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!”
This time I’m screaming.
My brain reminds me I’m the adult.
I’m supposed to be patient.
He’s only 3.
I don’t care.
I’m exhausted.
I’m worn.
I’m on day 1 million and five of too little sleep.
I can’t remember the last time I showered.
Or gotten to eat food alone.
I do everything for this small creature and he seems to hate me for it.
I snap.
“GO. BACK. TO. BED.”
I growl.
“AND DO NOT SCREAM.”
He runs back to his bed, tears streaming.
He knows mom is serious.
Because she is angry.
And I am angry so often.
Where did I go?
And when did I get replaced by this cascade of anger, sadness, guilt and exhaustion?
Who am I?
I don’t feel like a person.
I feel like Anger.
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry.”
He stands in the hallway, hesitant and repentant.
“I’m sorry.”
We hug, we apologize and we speak kindly.
I turn on a show for him and get him something to eat.
And I sit in the kitchen and cry into a towel.
Why is this so hard?
Why am I so overwhelmed?
It’s only 6:15 am and I am daydreaming of when the day can be OVER.
This is how our day starts and ends.
An endless tussle of “Who’s in charge here?”
And the overwhelming stream of onlookers who chime in are just so helpful.
“He needs a spanking!”
“I just use a very firm voice with my child and they know I mean business.”
“Well, HE’S in a mood today!”
Yes, that’s exactly what a heartbroken mom wants to hear about her first baby-
all of her darkest thoughts spoken out loud by those who don’t love her child.
I remember when he was a tiny spark of my life in my belly.
I remember holding his whole body in one hand.
I remember the fierceness of my love for him.
And I am overcome with
grief
confusion
embarrassment.
Over his battle towards me
Over my rage towards him
That I cannot make my own toddler behave
That I cannot make myself behave
That my little baby I promised to
Fight for
Love unconditionally
Advocate for
Champion
Has become my biggest competitor in my home.
I envy the breezy relationships I see between other mothers
(Better mothers, my brain tells me)
and their children.
I miss when you were small and I could do no wrong in your eyes.
When I was everything.
Maybe that’s why I rage- because you’ve realized I am not perfect.
You can sense I don’t know what I’m doing.
You can feel my own insecurities, my constant questions:
Am I doing the right thing?
Will you grow up to be a good man?
If you don’t, will it be my fault?
Do you know I love you?
Is it enough to cover my mistakes?
I hope so.
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