Motherhood is hard. The other night I literally started sobbing as I was putting the kid to bed. The past two days had been super stressful. Nothing world shattering, just busy, rushed, and overwhelming. I had had enough. She wouldn’t calm down, she scratched my face and I was just D-O-N-E. I felt like a crap mom.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to be so well-behaved. She was supposed to go to sleep when I laid her down and not cause a ruckus. I was supposed to be calm and patient and endure everything with a sweet spirit. I was supposed to keep my cool when she swatted her hands, not grab her wrists and say “Stop!” so forcefully that Huff the Hubs had to say, “You need to take a breath.”
I was supposed to have fun, educational activities planned for us to do, daily. Not finally relenting to letting her watch Veggie Tales after she has a “throw-herself-down-on-the-floor” tantrum.
I was supposed to lose the weight quickly and instantly be able to slip back into my old clothes, not walk around with hair I hadn’t washed in five days and a t-shirt that “wasn’t too stained” to be worn in public.
I was going to be the epitome of grace and poise. Huff the Babe would want to be me and all the other mommies would see me and think, “Wow. There goes a fantastic mom! And what great hair!”
Instead I’m singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” at the top of my lungs in the Target bathroom to my kid so she won’t touch the dirty floor while I hover over the germ-infested toilet.
And just when I think I can’t do it anymore, that I’m a terrible excuse for a mother, and that Huff the Babe will resent me forever for not letting her have cake for breakfast, I feel tiny arms wrap around my legs. I look down and see the most adorable, five-toothed grin shining up at me. And suddenly, I’m a great mom.