Last night I was frustrated. I told Mr. B that sometimes I am tired of being a mom. Let me set the scene for you.
It was 1:30 am. I was exhuasted, Mr. B was exhausted, and both of our children were screaming. I understood Manly’s cries, he was hungry, tired, and in need of a diaper change. The Queen’s cries I did not understand. First off, she wasn’t really crying. It would be more accurate to call it wildly screaming. The kind that makes a parent cringe and want to run for cover. We had tried everything, and, well, nothing was working.
That evening we had decided to attend a basketball game. While very fun, it threw off my whole evening schedule. The dishes had yet to be done and the living room was a disaster. I wasn’t too worried. When we came home, I gleefully put the Queen to bed. I was sure I could finally get some things done. Manly thought this idea was unacceptable. (So did the Queen. She did, thankfully, give me a couple hours before she decided enough was enough.) I spent the rest of the evening rocking him and reading blogs (even though I haven’t commented, know that I have been reading!!).
By the time Mr. B wearily walked up the steps, I was a frazzled mess. The Queen was awake, Manly was awake, and the house looked like a tornado had passed through.
Unbeknownst to my love, tears had already clouded my eyes. I was ready to throw in the towel. I just needed him to hug me and give me some time to release my pent-up frustrations.
But, once again, my plans were foiled. Children needed our attention. So, I told him that I was tired of being a mother and never got around to explaining myself.
While I am happy being a mom (really, I am!), I have days filled with angst. Times when I feel distressed, when all I want is a break. Unfortunately, our situation does not afford me “break” times. Mr. B needs to focus on school, and I need to support him. He doesn’t have the time to relieve me. If I want my time, I must arise at the ungodly hour of 5 am. And, let’s face it, I have a 2-month old and a 17-month old. I have nights when I finally plop into bed at 2 or 2:30. Waking up at 5 is not going to happen.
I try and make a balance. I take my children out to visit friends. Yet, these visits are often full of more stress. If the Queen is hungry and/or tired, she will be grumpy. She will whine and whine while I try and have sane conversations with my friends. It does not always work. Usually after 30 minutes, I am ready to go.
It is these days that I seem the most disgruntled. Deep inside I am really drowning. I do not usually let Mr. B see my tears. I know how silly this is because I will hide the tears yet show the anger. After his 1 hour dinner time, he says good-bye. I both want him to stay and comfort me and also desire that he leave me to my emotions.
He really has no choice, he must leave. Once the door closes, I allow the tears to flow.
Maybe I am not so much tired of being a mom, but tired of bearing the sole responsibility of our household.
As for last night? The dishes never were done. The living room was not cleaned. And, I was not given the time I so craved.
This morning I awoke with a painful awareness of my sorrow. The lump in my throat threatened to suffocate. Despite this, I had to continue. I have responsibilities (hint: busy calling).
This will give you an accurate representation why my writing has been less than ideal. I rarely have a chance to sit down and write. I am given 30 minute time periods. I must type and hit “publish.” Although, I know you, my dear readers, do not care as much as I think you do.
And now I am at the end of this page. I have written all that is in my heart at this time. I don’t have the energy, or the time (Manly is screaming) to edit it, or come up with some wonderful ending that tells you how I have conquered this challenge. In reality, there is no ending. I am still conquering. It is a daily struggle, one that I only win occasionally.