My opening tonight is a quote from another blogger, named Steve Wiens. I shared his link through FB already, so you may have read his belly-aching honesty about parenting small kids. Here’s one of my favorite parts:
“You’re bone-tired. I’m not sure when it’s going to get better. Today might be a good day or it might be the day that you lost it in a way that surprised even yourself.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
You’re not alone.”
I love my friends. But, for me, a tough part about this time in my life is: I just plain haven’t lived anywhere long enough since my son was born three years ago to have any really, super close mommy friends yet. In this way, I mean, I would give a million dollars if I could be as honest as this guy was in his post, like saying ” the sound of his kid’s voice sometimes makes him want to hide in the pantry…,” with my mom friends. “We” just aren’t there yet, my friends and I. Or, so it often feels. Maybe we’re just all too scared to admit the dirty parts are really as dirty as they are.
I’ve had a very rough time in recent months as my own perfect angel passed the 2.5 year mark. For whatever reason, the stuff hit the fan after that crossing. Yeah, he’s still the most angelic, perfect, most brilliant kid you’ve ever seen. And, deep down in my soul’s cellar, I mean that. But, but, but, you know the rest, sort of.
I basically just wanted to step in for a minute on this late evening to say how much I wish I could write more honestly about the hard stuff without feeling like a bad mother or even worse, like no one gets it. Like I am writing into a vacuum. Or, like it’s 1950, and women just aren’t supposed to talk about “stuff.” It’s not that bad, we think, or people want to fill in for you. Pat, pat. Hug, hug.
But, sometimes, it is that bad. Sometimes, we run into the bathroom when our kid can’t go down for a nap and sob into a towel for five minutes. Why? Because we have no idea how we’ll make it until dad gets home unless the little demon goes to sleep for at least a good long hour or two. Oh wait, dad doesn’t get home until after bedtime. Sob even harder. If we’re lucky, we’ve stopped crying when it’s time to walk back into his room. Sometimes, however, we can’t pull it together when it’s sufficiently been long enough to be locked in the bathroom.
At any rate, I am so glad someone else admitted out loud that they’ve screamed at their kid or that it’s really true that you can lose it in a way that surprises yourself and even scares you. That happens to me a few times each week. Surprise. Shock. Fear, that I am the only one I know who isn’t as good a parent as she thought or who feels utter shame that she can make her kid cry. “Mommy, you are a monster,” my beautiful, perfect, tiny angel said to me once. That wrecked me for a day. And had me convinced every compliment I’ve ever gotten on my parenting prowess is a sham.
Sigh. Breathe out. The next wave of entries won’t be so heavy, people. It’s time to talk about some of the brighter stuff too. For tonight, if you’re a parent who needs to feel a bit better about yourself, read this: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/steve-wiens/let-me-be-the-one-who-says-it-out-loud_b_3209305.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false