Mood swings and other things.
Stress and I aren't the best of friends under normal circumstances, throw in a growing fetus and I'm a freaking mess, incapable of handling a hang nail much less anything needing inner strength, patience or whatever you people use for coping mechanisms. I hate to admit it, but I've always been a little jumpy or easily agitated in tough situations. Mostly those of the emotional kind, not so much the get things done kind.
I had a meltdown last Friday at dinner. This was after two solid hours of shrieking baby hanging off from leg. I was in the thick of needy toddler time and I won't lie and tell you how pleasant it is to be needed all day every day because it is not my favorite part of parenting. I like watch from afar while happy children play quietly with books or listening to be sure they aren't shaving the cat or eating rat poisoning kind of parenting.
Needless to say, after those two hours of what felt like having the hair on my toes dug out with a potato peeler, I was a little touchy and I might have freaked out a little bit completely lost all composure and sanity. I would like to add that I am frightfully ashamed of my behavior and mortified that I let myself get so upset rather than just counting to 10 like good mothers do. But to be honest and fair I am not going to sugar coat the severity of my craziness because I know for a fact that I am not alone. Mothers lose it and they lose it bad sometimes. We are always expected to be everything, the shining example of perfection all day every day and to look good while doing it. All so we can be subtly reminded that this isn't a real job.
So I mentioned it was dinner time, right? Dinner at my house isn't always fun unless I'm making tacos or chicken. Neither of which I had that evening because I hadn't done a real grocery shop since our Christmas hiatus at the in-laws. I had fish sticks, or fish sticks. My 7 year old wasn't impressed but she reluctantly agreed since there was the slightest hint of desperation in my voice.
I'm juggling a starving baby, french fries, fish sticks and 5 binks, so when I tell you I was not excited to see her holding her nose while her aforementioned dinner was sizzling in the oven is an understatement. I pleaded with her to please not give me a hard time, I needed her to give mama a break this one time and get over herself just this once. If she ever loved me and wanted to show it, now was the time.
I guess she wasn't feeling the love because I got the eye roll and the play with her food while on the verge of tears until I gave in and let her eat effing Captain Crunch for dinner. Well guess what? We were out of Captain freaking Crunch on Friday and mama wasn't budging.
I guess it is becoming clear when the meltdown began, hmm?
My voice got a teeny bit louder as I exclaimed to her that she was to eat those freaking fish sticks right now and not give me any shit about it or I was going to have to walk out the door. I meant that I was walking out the door to take a brief break, she took it how any 7 year old kid would take their mother freaking out while loudly telling her that I've had it and I can't take it anymore. Of course she started to cry which only made matters worse for me and I continued to ramble on and on about how horrible it was to be me and all kinds of other damaging things that I didn't mean but would certainly trigger counseling later on.
Lucky for us her father arrived right then and alleviated the stress I was showering upon our innocent child, thank GOD! I held my composure for maybe two minutes and started to bawl. I cried for S because she didn't deserve to take the brunt of my pent up annoyance, I cried because I was failing at being a mother, I cried because I was ashamed for allowing myself to fail in such a miserable way and I was crying because I couldn't be what everyone needed all the time. I hated what I was capable of and despised the fact that I couldn't just walk in the other room for a moment and regain control. I threw a tantrum to make any two year old proud except that I am the grown up and supposedly had outgrown such horrific actions.
Of course I apologized and explained and cried and apologized again and reminded her that none of that was her fault, that was not about her and her fish sticks and more about me and my imperfections that I am not proud of. I held her tight in my arms and kissed her perfect forehead and told her that I loved her and no matter what she said or did I would never leave her but damn it all I can't take it back. No matter what I say or how hard I wish and try, it happened. It wasn't fair or right, but it happened. I'm her protector, the person to build her up so outsiders can't tear her down and there I was casting stones at her fragile structure and creating bad memories that I couldn't take away.
I never claimed to be perfect, but I hope that I'm never that ugly again. If I am, I hope and pray that time and love can minimize the damage done. We joke later about how mama freaked out about fish sticks because making light makes it easier to swallow but it still really sucks that she has that in her memory bank.
It is extremely difficult to put this out in black and white for others to read and relate or even judge, but I did it anyway. I did it because I don't want to hide it. I wrote it in hopes that it will remind me when minutes get bad to find a way to deal with my stress in better ways. Maybe instead just get a bowl of Captain Crunch.
