Last night I was done. Done for the day. Done being a mom. Done with work. Done being a housekeeper. Done with the ever increasing load of endless things to do.
I was tired.
Beckett was screaming.
An old picture of Beckett screaming, but you get the idea.
Kiera was asking the same questions over and over.
“Can I go on the iPad?”
“Can I have a lollipop?”
“Can I watch My Little Pony?”
“No, Kiera! For the love of God, read a book!”
She would slowly walk a way. Dejected. Head hanging. She would find the easiest book ever and read it in under 30 seconds.
“NOW can I go on the iPad?”
Yes, I admit we have a lot of screen time in this house. Something we need to cut back on. But despite how tired I was, I didn’t cave. Okay. I DID let her watch My Little Pony. But just one episode, okay?
Ryan needed help with homework. It took about two hours to get one math assignment done. There were tears. There was frustration — both from Ryan and his dad. Frustration on Ryan’s side because if he doesn’t understand something, then it must not be correct. Converting milliliters to liters? According to Ryan, it didn’t make any sense, so therefore it was scientifically impossible. And he would try to argue with his dad with a look of smug stubbornness, pointing out that all previous scientists and mathematicians were wrong. And he, Ryan, an eleven year old boy who is really bad at math, is correct. Try arguing with that while getting dinner done, dealing with a screaming baby and listening to an 8 year old girl standing there asking the same three questions over and over and over.
That’s why we have beer in the fridge.
I love my life. I love my children. I love my husband. But last night I was having a moment. Yes, I signed up for this. I always wanted to be a mom. I wanted five kids — cue the snickers. Then when I had my first, I realized I only “liked” being a mom. I didn’t love it — even though I loved my baby more than the entire Universe — my love for him stretched a billion times deeper than the deepest depths of the cosmos.
But I only “liked” being a mom. But I was only 22. I had no fucking clue what I had gotten myself into.
Then I decided that I kinda sorta loved being a mom and had another baby. Then I went back to only “liking” the mommy thing. I think my level of liking and loving directly correlates with the age of the child. My love of being a mother increases as the child gets older. Especially after they’re potty trained. Needless to say, I had three children instead of five.
Anyway. Last night. So I was in a mood. And when I get in a mood, I can’t just snap out of it. I have to let it fester, much to the frustration of my husband. I can’t even force a smile — if I try, it results in a maniacal, tight stretched out mouth with gritted teeth. It’s not pretty. All I can do is furrow my brow and just roll with it.
I think my problem is I work all day. Literally. I go to work and take care of people. I come home and take care of people. I’m constantly caring for people.
You know what would help?
A nice brisk walk every evening.
I think I’ll do that today.
And hopefully I’ll be back to loving motherhood when the kids get home from school.