I seem to be going through a phase of motherhood that is particularly unpleasant. If you are reading this and you have never had children, I’d like to explain: there are phases where being a mom is seriously the greatest thing ever. You glow and feel complete and wonder what meaning you ever found in life before these precious beings came to be.
And then … there are other times like right now where you feel overwhelmed, tired, and resentful of your spouse. I currently resent mine because he gets to go to work every day at a place where no one pinches the SHIT out of him (trying to climb into his lap), pulls his hair (trying to climb into his lap), bites him (trying to climb into his lap) or throws food in his general direction.
I think I’m in the trenches. My boobs hurt — all the time. Not like some of the time, I mean literally 24/7 I have boob pain. Children pinch, bite, pull at me and thrash around when I’m trying to dress them. They smear food all over themselves like it’s their intent to make the post-meal cleanup process as difficult as possible. You’ve won, children. You can stop now.
ONE gripes. He gripes and he gripes in his 4-year-old voice. It’s not whining, it’s griping. Like a crochety old man gripes about his food, with clear words and a scrunched-up face. I’m working on curbing that, but it still chips away at my patience. I don’t feel like grocery shopping or cooking but yet, someone has to feed the children … and they can’t live on pie, which is sad because I would sure love to eat and serve NOTHING BUT PIE.
But since I am trying to be reasonable, I drag my huge boobs to the kitchen and cook things like fresh blueberry pancakes because the thought of eating them doesn’t make me gag and I think, “Hey, this is sort of nutritious! And the kids will like them, and if I squint my eyes, I can pretend it’s pie.” Only to be met with disdain and complaints from my oldest child. The berries are too mushy. I need more syrup. I want something else. I need another napkin.
He eats them, of course. But not without complaint. And I put a smile on my face and politely ask about his day and politely remind him to use his manners and say please and if you wish to complain, you may be excused … when I really want to scream at him that he is being ungrateful and bratty. And the baby throws another handful of pancake onto the kitchen floor, leans over to look at it, rubs a blueberry-covered hand on his head and says “Uh-ohhhhhhhhhh …”
I complain about all of this to let you know, there are times when being a mom SUCKS. This is what alerts me to the fact that it‘s time to take care of myself. I need a coffee date with a friend, time alone, a good book. Freedom. A reminder that I am still a person, a person who can’t continue to serve and give without refilling my soul … lest I LOSE IT. And no one, I repeat, no one, wants to see that happen.
Especially Husband. Because we all know it would likely be directed at him.