Today was hard. Today I was not a shining example of how to win at motherhood. In fact, if this was a game, I lost miserably. And days like these are happening more often than not now that Joshua has decided he’s not napping anymore.
This not napping? It will be the death of whatever happens to be left of my sanity. Promise.
Today Joshua was very…three. We ran errands this morning and I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve seen the change in my mood looming on the horizon.
I should know by now how to keep myself from melting down.
When he acted up in the store, I should’ve just come home, not because I’d issued an ultimatum but because I should know better.
I picked up lunch and we came home and he was eating. Slowly. So slowly. Because he knew that after he finished eating, it would be quiet time.
(If Joshua’s not going to nap, I still want him to have quiet time in the middle of the day. Just a small break. And that break is for me as much as it is for him. It’s my moment to have only one kid touching me instead of both kids. Maybe even none kids if the Universe is smiling down on me. It’s my moment to not be listening to Angry Birds or Super Why or the orders of my Tiny Terrorist telling me what to do.)
But he hates quiet time and sleeping and anything that is what I want him to do that he does not want to do. So a battle of wills ensues every day. A battle in which I, the mother, must be victorious for no other reason than because I say so and because I feel like I will lose my mind if I lose this battle.
And when the (un)quiet time was over, he came into the living room to sit by me on the couch and I–I didn’t want him to touch me. I just wanted him to be somewhere else.
I was so very mad at him for not just cooperating and laying down that I didn’t even want him to be near me. What kind of mother AM I?
A horrible one, I think.
One who does not deserve the love that her children give her.
I’m not proud of myself.
I used harsh words.
My hands weren’t gentle.
I made my son cry.
I hate(d) myself today.