OK, so is it some big, hidden secret that motherhood is this relentless, this hard, this discouraging, this demoralizing and nobody talks about it, or am I the only one who feels this way? I don't hear other people talk about it. Sure, I got some mild, "It can be hard . . . " warnings, but followed with, "but it's all worth it." And don't get me wrong, I don't doubt the 'worth it' part, but this is beyond hard. This is soul sucking. I changed 8 blow out diapers yesterday. Eight. Not just poopy diapers, I changed another 4-5 of those, but ones that actually blew out and involved an outfit change. It's noon, and I've already done three blow outs today. The last one in the middle of the front room floor, meaning I just carpet shampooed my disgusting looking carpet for the THIRD time in the last week. I am so done fighting with the kids trying to get them to eat healthy, to get to the root of these health problems, that the last two mornings I've let them eat Cocoa Pebbles for breakfast (rice isn't good for Ellie right now, so it's something we should be avoiding -- processed food in general, especially grains, are particularly counter-intuitive for healing a newly diagnosed Celiac's gut). They've gorged themselves on popsicles, while I've spent all day holding a tiny, shrieking, miserable 17 month old who's been running fevers or having diarrhea for nearly a week now. I am to a point where I feel we do not have one single thing going right. My kids are cranky, the baby is miserable (feeling and to be around, frankly). I feel like summer is slipping away so quickly while we do nothing but damage control at home. My housework is piling up to completely overwhelming-will-I-ever-catch-up? levels as I do nothing all day but make food, get bit by a cranky baby, change diapers, do diaper-related laundry and clean up the kitchen. Again and again and again. My kids are bored. So bored. I turn on the sprinklers and let them run, but it lasts a few minutes. They just want to watch TV, and I feel endlessly guilty when I let them do it for hours, and when I refuse them. It's a no-win. They beg for my attention, but I just end up snapping at them to leave me alone because I'm holding a screeching baby who's been angrily screaming and thrashing, and that I can't placate to save my life. I have eaten nothing but ice cream today, despite the fact it makes me feel like crap, not to mention horribly guilty, since it's adding to Owen's gastrointestinal issues and pissy mood.
I have never so badly wanted to just disappear. To runaway? But then I'd still just be worried about what they were being fed and if their stomachs are hurting and if whomever is watching them understands cross contamination or what ingredients are hidden sources of wheat or dairy. To cease to exist. Just for awhile.
I put Owen in his high chair with a bowl of spaghetti as I sat down to type this -- about 3 minutes in he started screaming, throwing his food onto the floor and ferociously waving his 'all done' hands. He's had like four bites. He hasn't wanted to eat in days. It will take me three times longer to clean up the mess from lunch than it took him to eat his meager meal. And he'll want to eat again in an hour, because he hasn't eaten enough to fill up. I will have to start thinking about what we'll eat next before I even finish cleaning up this meal. I need to get some quinoa going in the rice cooker while I'm thinking about it. And I'm ALWAYS thinking about it. It's hard to even leave the house, because food is such an issue. This is not the kind of Mom I thought I'd be. I thought I'd be fun, we'd play in the sprinklers or go to the park all summer; but before we even walked there I'd already have a blow out diaper to change and a new diaper rash that's making the baby cry, and we'd have to come home to clean off and change outfits anyway. Is motherhood always just damage control? Is it always this hamster wheel that never goes anywhere, just over and over and over the same issues day after day? Some relentless groundhog's day I will never win at? Or am I doing it wrong?
(Edited to add: Not an hour after I wrote this, Owen was angrily yelling at me because I wasn't holding him while peeling and slicing up a cucumber for his siblings (I'm all picky about not wanting to handle knives and grabby babies at the same time). He looked at me, glared, yelled again and then freaking threw himself off the back stair, face first, onto the back patio. He split his lip and bled all over us. Sigh. This is the second time that out of anger with me for not picking him up or doing what he wants me to do, he has thrown himself off a porch step and busted his lip. I felt so horrible about it, but I couldn't even bring myself to show him much sympathy. I mean, of course, I picked him up, got him cleaned up and held him while he cried for the next 20 minutes, but I was so annoyed by the whole thing that I didn't coo and comfort him over and over again. I just let him rest on my shoulder and bleed all over us.)
2 comments:
Oh heavens girl, one) I wish I could give you the much needed break. two)oh heck yes! Running away sounds tempting quite often. In fact 0 if you figure out how to do it without all the worrying involved - let me know. three) soul sucking, hamster on the wheel all the way and some days I really wonder if it's worth it. and four) any mom who claims she hasn't ever felt this way is either lying or is smoking something really good.
I've had my fair share of struggles as a mom (PPD with both girls) but it's only been in the last few months that I have begun to feel the emotional weight of the fact that I am ALWAYS going to be a mom from here on out. There is no end. Period. And yes, there is some pretty awesome stuff associated with that, but yikes. So much work and worry. The worst is when my dad tells me I'm actually at the easy part. Yes, logistically young kids are harder, but he tells me he worries much more about his kids as adults than when we were little. Um, thanks for the heads up, dad.
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