I used to be known as a nice, kind person--generous in spirit, sunny and
optimistic.
Lately, some days I can still pull off “kind but firm”. Other days, I really understand why some species of animals eat their
young.
Picture it: 8:30 am on a Sunday morning. Children sitting companionably
together on sofa. Mother smiling as she clears breakfast table, suffused with
dreamy images of familial harmony, enjoying moment of quiet joy. Father
outside, good-naturedly shovelling snow in uber-macho manner.
Seconds later, older child starts teasing younger child mercilessly,
taking a favourite toy and holding it just out of reach. Screaming ensues.
Frustrated younger child belts living daylights out of older child and tries to
sit on her head. Screaming ensues. Younger child given harsh scolding and sent to
naughty corner. Screaming ensues. Older child loudly chastised for teasing
little sister. Sulking ensues. Older child grumps off to bedroom only to
discover that younger child has, at some point, sneakily unearthed box of
Secret Treasures from its hiding place and Touched Everything. Screaming
ensues. Mother screams at everyone to stop screaming. Younger child, liberated
from naughty corner, stomp-runs away at high speed and catches side of forehead
with full force on corner of bookshelf. High-decibel shrieking ensues. Mother
makes multiple, futile attempts at holding squirming and distraught child still
enough to administer bag of frozen peas to massive purple egg-shaped contusion.
Phone rings loudly and insistently. Smaller child is still shrieking
uncontrollably; panicked mother pictures
a hospital visit, head injuries, concussion. Older child finishes sulking and coolly
re-enters room, inexplicably having removed all clothes except underpants. She
observes the situation; judging from her neutral reaction, apparently
everything is perfectly normal. She suddenly demands to know (in tones loud enough to
be heard over little sister’s shrieking) what vitamins are in milk, how do tv
shows get to our tv, and when are you going to wrap the present I am taking to
Best Friend’s birthday party today? Older child commanded to wait 5
minutes until crisis at hand is under control. Older child bitterly accuses
parent of dividing attention unevenly between siblings. Younger child stops
crying and imperiously tells big sister to shush. Big sister has spectacular meltdown.
Little sister starts crying again.
Less than TEN MINUTES of concentrated life with children, and already I
am wondering how I’m going to make it through the day.
I love my girls so much. I wanted them desperately, and I still do.
Some days, though, I am completely overcome by the frenetic, frustrating
minutiae of daily life with children. I know difficult moments are fleeting and
will pass, I know I just need to remain calm and deal with it and allow the ebb
and flow of life to take its course, but sometimes, secretly, I just want to
give up. I just want it all to go away.
In those black moments, I don’t want to be anyone’s mother any more. I don’t
want to be responsible for anyone but myself and my own selfish needs. I find
myself wishing to go back in time to when I was a carefree twenty-something who
washed and blow-dried my hair and carefully applied makeup every morning, had
long, chatty brunches with girlfriends on Sunday mornings, and prided myself on
being able to handle multiple responsibilities with consummate ease and a smile
on my face. I mean, my twenty-something self would even buy special lingerie to wear for her husband on
his birthday.
I love my girls so much, but dammit, parenting is hard work. It’s hard
to get right, and it’s even harder to know whether or not you’ve actually
managed to get it right. It saps my energy and my patience and my confidence
like nothing else. It challenges my inner resources beyond what I thought were
reasonable boundaries. At the worst times, forging ahead with the day is quite
literally a minute-to-minute challenge.
* * * * *
I wrote all this in a surge of emotion this morning (after my husband
returned to the scene, took a look around, and - God bless him - told me to hide
in our bedroom for an hour and have some time to myself). Of course, right now, as I read back over the rush of truth that poured out of me just hours ago, already my girls
are making a liar out of me. One has set up her doll house furniture all over
the coffee table and is endearingly letting Sylvanian Families rabbits take
turns on the toilet (“Here you go, little one! Pisssssss!”) The other has just fired up some Maroon 5, and is shouting “I got the moves like dragon!”
No way could I ever do without them, and no way do I really want to go back to the days when I only dreamed about
having them. They are hard work, but the very best things in life are
those that are worked for the hardest. I am also pretty sure that, for all my
whining, if I had to I would do my DARNDEST to find further, even endless resources
within myself to help and protect and fight for my children through the most serious or challenging circumstances. We all know that we could and would, and
my heart goes out to parents have already done just that - parents who really know what it is to give their absolute
all to save their child from illness, hunger, danger, or evil.
My secret, dark thoughts of throwing in the towel are, after all, only
thoughts. They are fleeting. They too will pass.
