Is it okay to say I hate this??? I hate being a mom. I hate having my kids home with me 24/7. I hate the demands. I hate the whining. I hate no sleep. I hate it. Hate. Hate. Hate. I feel like I am stuck on a hamster wheel with no end in sight. I don’t sleep well at night because my one year old wants to nurse. All night. I awaken in the morning and he’s still there, right next to me. I slowly make my way out of my bedroom and encounter my ten year old who needs a little direction. And a hug. And a bagel. But I haven’t even started coffee.
Meanwhile, my thirteen year old slowly ambles out of the room, bed head in full force and wants to describe to me, in full detail, a dream she had. Still, coffee is yet to perk. I tell my kids to get moving as I desperately locate the coffee from the pantry. In the ten seconds I have my back turned, my one year old has managed to scale the counters and is now standing on them, emptying the cookie tin that was left there, a little treat I had saved for later, maybe when the coffee was ready and he was napping. But no, the cookies are now crumbled, emptied all over the counter, adding yet another chore to my already full day. Feeling the urge to snap, I quickly grab my son off the counter, yell to my daughter to help me clean the mess and glance at the clock. 7:10. Fifty more minutes and the two older ones will be in “class” and by class I mean the room that doubles as my son’s bedroom and their classroom for distance learning. The distance is only about three feet from me, however and does not “distance” them from re-entering for a snack. Or a bathroom break. Or to tell me something funny their friend said. And still, no coffee.
I take a breath. Read scripture with my big kids while trying to ignore the baby pulling my shirt down for milk (again!) and keep his screams (relatively) quiet so my husband, who works nights, can sleep as uninterrupted by our daily noise as possible. If I sound like a spoiled stay home mom, forgive me. I just want sleep. I want a cup of coffee in peace. I want the big kids to get along and go back to school. I want my life back. I want to work out without the baby demanding “up” fifty times. I want to shower alone, without having to bribe a big kid to watch the baby so he doesn’t play in the toilet while I wash my hair. Speaking of, I can’t remember when I last DID wash my hair. I want to get dressed in real clothes. Not sweats, not a hoodie and leggings. A real outfit. I want to do my hair and make up and go somewhere other than the grocery store.
This season is HARD. Harder than any other season of life I’ve experienced. It’s draining. It’s depressing. It’s unfair. Most days I have to navigate between the lesser of two evils: talk to a friend on the phone for a few minutes for my mental health’s sake and chance that the baby draws all over the couch or forego those precious minutes of connection for a couch that remains marker free. Do I cuddle in bed with my hubby while he regails me with the stories of last night’s shift if it means that the big kids fight and the baby eats an eraser?? Tell me, what would you pick? These days, I’m just surviving. I’m sure you are too. It’s not easy. It’s anything but. I’ve fantasized about just driving away for a couple hours, hiring a nanny, leaving my sleep deprived husband with the load so I can jog or take a long bath. I’ve pictured forking over the money to put my big kids in private school just to get a break. But then, reality sets in. My grown-up self takes over and I calm the eff down. I remember that this, too, shall pass. It’s only a season. My baby will eventually stop eating everything in sight. He will sleep through the night eventually and I will wean him one of these days. The big kids will get bigger, need me less, stop asking for hugs. One day, I’m sure I WILL miss it. I just can’t see it right now. But I’m trying. I’m trying to be patient, yell less and pray more. I’m trying to be an example of a strong woman, the Proverbs 31 woman that I know I am called to be. I want to press the shirts, fold the laundry with joy, make the lunches happily. I want to relish the good and lose sight of the bad. And yet...
I hope you all are hanging in there while your kids “distance learn” in the living room. Or the kitchen table. I hope you still laugh, still find time for you and still find hope in what feels like such darkness. This too, will pass. The tide will change. Soon us young mamas will have wrinkles, those grey hairs will begin to show and we’ll long for a time when our babies needed us, when we cut the crusts off the sandwiches and wiped runny noses. We’ll miss the sound of those little chubby baby feet running down the hall. We will. I’m sure of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment