Tuesdays on The Little Mumma are normally reserved for Harlow. Today's post would be Eight Little Weeks. Has she really been here for so long already?
But I can't write that post tonight. I can't write it because I am too damned tired. The kind of tired that feels like you have grit in your eyes and lead in your bones.
Today was a challenge from the moment my feet hit the ground. Both boys had unspent energy surging through them, two little livewires, crackling with electricity. We were expecting friends for a playdate so I knew that would help burn through some of it. And it did…until the playdate ended and their little friend went home. In the aftermath, we were left with two excited, exhausted kids. A veritable nightmare combination. Especially when you are trying to get an eight week old baby down for a nap.
And me? I wasn't sitting particularly well in the role of the mummy today. Some days, it's an uncomfortable fit. Awkward. Stretched in all the wrong places. Or minus analogy – today I was without patience, grace or empathy. And I said fuck in front of the kids. Well, to clarify, I said it to them. I believe my exact words were, "What the fuck are you doing?" They may or may not have overheard me saying it at other times in a conversation not directed at them….
So all the factors for a truly shitful day were in place but Luca was exercising a particularly infuriating brand of attitude today, not only refusing to do as he was asked but encouraging his little brother to do the very thing I had said not to do. Like run back and forth in the house when Harlow was trying to sleep. Their thunderous footsteps pounding against the floorboards disturbed her on more than one occasion so that getting anything done was virtually impossible as I see-sawed between resettling the baby and screaming at the boys.
Some days, I am calm and reasoned. Today I was just fucking angry. My whole body vibrated with tension. At one point, in an effort to catch the boys in an act of defiance, I whipped around the corner so quickly, I smacked my head into the doorframe. The universe literally put an obstacle in my way but still, it didn't slow me down, didn't remind me to check myself before I let the air of my lungs in a voice designed to frighten my children into submission. The four-year-old was sufficiently scared. The two-year-old mimicked me back to me.
Naturally, I would fold Luca into my arms as he wailed that I was frightening him. I would apologise, he'd nod his head when I asked him to help me out by behaving. I'd feel myself relaxing as I soothed him. But every single time, sensing the point where I was calm again, he would wriggle out of my arms and go directly back to what it was he had been doing before – the thing that had made me lose my shit in the first place.
Brick wall. My head.
I have never wished my children weren't mine. But there are days when I could live without being their full-time, 24/7 carer. I think it might be nice to have a nanny to watch them while I popped out for lunch, to get my nails done….or sit in my car with the stereo turned up to eleven and just fucking sob.
To quote some f**kwit who didn’t know what he was talking about “tomorrow is another day” ……hopefully a better one for you. Thanks for your honesty, I too have days like these and hate myself for them…..nice to know I’m not alone
You are most definitely not alone, Kerri.
Thank you for helping me feel that I’m not alone either. xx
Holla.
Back atcha.
I had a similar day. I too swore after my two point five year old peed deliberately on the floor for the third time. By the end of the day I was knotted up and angry and practically ran out the door to yoga class. My yoga teacher said there is some major planetary action at the moment, which affects close relationships until Friday. She said there was bound to be a lot of tension in relationships. Everyone in the class sighed, as if to say “Well that explains it then”. Hope you get a good rest.
Wow, Zanni! That’s amazing. I love that stuff and it helps to just know that I’m at the mercy of the universe….and not just a shithouse mother.
Thank you. I need my bed.
xxx
Oh, babe. I feel your pain, and I’m not even dealing with three kids. Currently, it’s the 2 year old who is turning mornings (while F is as school) into living hell. Everything is a battle with her. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing. She fights for control of the tiniest things, and screams at the drop of a hat. She is the very definition of irrational and – I’m ashamed to admit -my hand itches to slap her. I’m over it, and desperately wishing I could dump her on a family member for even just a few hours… but alas, that’s not to be.
I hope you have a better day today. Bring on that planetary alignment! xxx
Angie, this blog is such a wonderful place to visit. That post made me exhale with relief that I am not alone in these moments….
God I love you! Brilliant! Just brilliant, it’s so reassuring and lovely to know I am not the only Mummy to say FUCK in front of or to their children! xxx
Shit! To have no respite is no fun. I imagine those days would feel particularly isolating for you, poor doll.
The itching hand is very common, I am sure. I gave in a few times with Luca and very swiftly learnt it does not work. But oh man, the temptation still arises with some frequency.
Get your shit together, planets!
Oh, Jenny, thank you! Your comment makes ME exhale with relief to know that I have not exposed myself as the terrible parent I sometimes suspect I am.
xx
Oh, Kate, you most certainly are not the only one. Lots of imperfect mothers getting around it would seem. Thank god for that!
Thank you. xx