This is a story about losing it. Sometimes there are days where I am covered in sweat because I am wrestling a freakishly strong toddler into a diaper after wrestling said toddler out of a previously dirty one. Of course, this brings on a healthy round of Braxton Hicks contractions requiring me to breathe through them and pray my uterus stops pressing on my sciatic nerve at the same time. Today has been a sweaty day. There are no arms left. There is no patience left. There is nothing that is distracting this child from throwing everything on the floor and just coming up to me and hitting me, full-forced, in the stomach. But this has been going on all day. Water poured out of the bath. Half-digested gold fish smeared into the couch. All day. I imagine myself speaking in a cool, calm voice. That voice which drips with serious, cut it out tones but still remains on the softer side. But no, that's not what comes out. Counting to ten did not help. Walking away has not helped. Distractions, bribes, pleas, nothing helped. And then it happens. This shrieking beast emerges from the depths of her normally slumbering state and I just lost it. And then the little mirror reflects it all right back and screams and throws herself on the floor.
And I just stare and breathe heavily and hear my own blood pulsing in my ears. So I put myself in time out.
Then I approached the tiny tornado and we attempted to hug it out (which failed). She screamed for some warm milk and I turned on the Netflix while I warmed milk in the microwave. My whole body is tense and I am trying not to cry. But I break down any way in all my motherhood guilt and quickly text Paul, begging him to come home early and bring food because there is no way I am recovering any time soon. I am sure if someone witnessed this melt down of ours, they would run away in horror. Or maybe I would get a sanctimommy yielding a pitch fork telling me I am unfit. Or maybe I would get "I've been there" sympathetic glances.
And now I am trying to tune out her whines for more milk, this time cold and in a different cup. Meanwhile, I am chugging a huge glass of ice water, pretending it's vodka. And sighing with anguish because the dryer and washer just dinged, reminding me that I have two loads of essentials going that will require folding.
And I don't really know the point of writing this except that these are what my days normally look like, just shy of my actually losing it, and I wanted the reminder that I am simply human and that guilt is a good friend over here in motherhoodland.
So while she continually hangs all over me demanding more of my non-existent energy, inducing another sweaty downpour, I pray that bedtime comes soon and hope that the drive through line at Taco Bell is short. So that's the story of how I lost it today, ¡Salud!
