Look. I admit that I have wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. There have been other goals along the way - I think in fifth grade I wanted to be a lawyer; in sixth grade I decide I wanted to be an actress and that stuck with me for, oh, ever; I did the nonprofit career thing; I've always fancied myself something of a writer (never quite figured out a job around that one) - but being a mom has always been a top priority. Here's the thing, though. I thought it would be easier than this. THIS is really freaking hard. I remind myself all the time that no one ever died of mothering two two-year-olds. I find myself screaming at them to stop screaming at each other. I count to ten 9000 times a day. There are days (today is one of them) when it's all I can do not to spank them. Sure, sure - they're cute, but that doesn't really matter when they blatantly disregard what I say to them about EVERYTHING.
I assembled two new sparkling tricycles for them this morning. They whined the whole time I did it. They argued over who got the first one. Each girl wanted BOTH bikes when the assembly was complete. They ran into each other on purpose and caused massive tears. I took them up for nap. Belly woke up after ten minutes and HOWLED for the next 40 until the music was done.
It is sunny and 60 degrees outside. I'm giving them lunch and have promised that we will ride the bikes in the driveway after lunch. BUT PEOPLE - they refuse to eat lunch. They are sitting in their seats crying about not liking it. I have threatened a second nap if they don't eat SOMETHING.
Seriously. Shoot me. Put me out of my misery. I'm filled with anger in a way very, very unbefitting a mother. Parenting books? Fuck 'em. I have read 32 of them. I'm either told to modify my behavior or to just "get through it." Get through what? The next 16 years? I. Will. Not. Make. It. And modify my behavior? Oh I have. Trust me, I have. And it doesn't do a damn thing. They are holy terrors for me. This behavior is not displayed for Daddy or others. It is reserved for me alone.
I love these girls like no other people in the world, but they are freaking killing me. I used to be a lovely person. Now I'm an evil monster inside. Maybe this is three goddamn weeks of being home with sick kids talking (tomorrow we will actually venture out in the world again), but I'm not so sure. Everyone says to treasure this time. I want to hurt those people. They are not in my shoes. I want six-year-olds who go to school.
7 comments:
It will get better. It will. I promise. Getting out and about will help. Be strong.
I was there last week. Its the not getting out. You will feel better tomorrow, staying home for that long is impossible. You have to have adult conversations, conversations that don't include "Please do not (hit, pinch, bite, push, sit on, suffocate) your (sister, brother)"
Tomorrow we'll all hug and rejoice for making it through however many weeks of illness. And Thursday we'll abandon our husbands and let them work it out. We'll drink, we'll laugh, maybe we'll cry, but we'll be grown up ladies out on our own.
You can make it. You will make it.
Even if it's one you're still saying the same thing. I think it's time for a trip to see Grandma as soon as humanly possible for a weekend trip!! and leave them there:)
Right there with you, like usual.
Yesterday I had a friend over w/ her 6-month-old baby, and my 3-yr-old was screaming and tantruming and hitting and kicking and spent half the day in time-out, and my friend was all cooing to her baby and doing baby signs and talking about "starting solids" and saying things to me like "Ohhhh...I"m sure this is just a rough day for you guys" and "have you tried putting her to be a little early? Maybe she's tired". And it was all I could do to keep my head from exploding and shouting "You have NO IDEA how hard this shit gets!!!"
Dude. It's hard. When the person(s) you love most in the world beat you down every day, regardless of whether or not it's developmentally appropriate, it's hard. That is all.
They're like alcoholic husbands - when it's good, it's really good; but when they are mean and terrible, I feel trapped and alone and like I'm going to die. That's the best analogy I can think of to describe raising little kids. Why don't the books say THAT - even as a sidebar - when you start reading about wanting to get knocked up?!
Yikes, this sounds desperate! Will be back to Oregon in three weeks. Hang in there! - the loving Grandma
I feel this way. A lot. It actually goes in waves. Years, perhaps that seem to last forever, but oddly they whisk by. Then they're back again for the teen years. I think it's so as a mom you don't completely crumble when they first leave for school, and when they next leave for life (college, adulthood). It's the human mom's way of shoving them out of the nest, I guess. :)
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