Lets be honest.
Being a parent = one of the hardest things a person ever does in life.
Can I just vent for a second?
In case it wasn’t obvious, I have had a rough day.
Don’t get me wrong.
I LOVE being a mom, I really do.
Nothing makes me happier than spending time with the three beautiful children that God has blessed me with.
But there are days, when I know God is really testing me.
And today is one of them.
It started out at approximately 1:30 a.m.
I was awoken from a deep and wonderful sleep by the shrill sound of my four month old screaming.
Now normally I am a co-sleeper.
Since I breastfeed it just makes life easier, and with a king size bed their is more than enough space.
But I have been laying Diggy down in his bed when he falls asleep around nine, in an effort to make the inevitably approaching permanent transition to his own bed a little less traumatic.
Apparently my body has not gotten used to waking up without him next to me.
I’m tired enough from the long weekend that I am stumbling around like a drunk woman.
My eyes are half open and squinty and all I can hear is the alarming sound of my little angel crying.
But where the heck is he???
I am frantically searching for him under the covers, all around.
I look under the bed.
The crying is getting louder and I am about to burst into tears and wake up Melvin.
Then I notice the green lights on the baby monitor lighting all the way up.
He is safe in his crib.
Much relieved and feeling incredibly idiotic, I race down the hall to scoop him up safe and sound.
Although he is a little irritated with me for taking so long, he quickly forgives me, as I am the keeper of his midnight snack.
Despite the adrenaline rush of thinking my infant had disappeared into the dark abyss of my bedroom, I quickly fall back asleep.
Devin wakes up for another snack, I sleepily roll over and see a fuzzy lump laying next to him.
My first thoughts:
“Is that a dog???”
“We dont have a dog.”
“Whose dog is it and how the heck did it get in my bed???”
“Why is it sleeping next to my baby?”
I start frantically poking the “dog” expecting it to move, and as my hand pats down its fuzzy legs I feel plastic on the bottom of its feet.
This is not a dog.
This is my three year old in his footy pajamas…
who no doubt has had a nightmare and is seeking refuge in the safety of mommy and daddy’s bed.
This second annoyance of an adrenaline rush keeps me awake for several minutes.
I regret the day I ever let my kids watch Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, since the stupid witch in it has frightened my poor Jordan ever since.
Eventually I dose back off.
The sound of crying, again, yanks me from dream land and back to reality.
This time it belongs to my three year old, who is still laying next to me.
“What’s wrong baby?”
“My head hurts!” He wails.
I touch his forehead, which, sure enough is VERY hot.
I hurry to the kitchen and bring back a water bottle and some children’s tylenol.
He takes the medicine and I carry him back to his own bed, since he is tearfully begging for his stuffed hippo.
Melvin of course sleeps through all of this.
I fall back in bed, all I can think about is how long this day is going to be.
When we all wake up a few hours later, Jordan has made a miraculous recovery and is his usual smiley self.
This lasts until the medicine wares off around noon.
He bursts into tears at the sight of his peanut butter and honey sandwich and begs to go to sleep.
I, of course, oblige.
About two hours later he emerges from his room a hysterical, mess of a child.
I lay him on the couch and put on some cartoons where we spend the next hour snuggling, as he sips on blue Gatorade and sucks on a pedialite popcycle.
Then out of no where he starts crying again.
This time very loudly.
“Whats wrong honey?”
He looks at me and starts coughing.
I rush across the room and try to catch the vomit with his blanket to spare the couch.
Let me tell you, I have seen some gross things.
I have given birth three times for goodness sake.
Cleaned up vomit of all sorts.
Poop, pee, you name it.
But this was different.
Like a cartoon character when it looks like a hose is squirting from his throat.
Its coming out so fast I cant catch it all and it bounces from the blanket back in his face, up his nose and in his eyes.
Its all over me, the couch, the floor, the rug.
Poor, unsuspecting, baby Devin playing on the floor gets it all over his head and arm.
Gross doesn’t cover it, not even a little bit.
An hour later, my two children that were victims of the vomit and I were bathed, in clean clothes, and Jordan and Diggy were both sound asleep for a nap.
The mess was clean and you never would have known what had happened, but I still found myself a little on edge.
I think that is something I have struggled with for a while.
and so I pose this question to you:
How do you deal with stress relief?
Things pile up, they get crazy and almost never work out according to plan.
How do you keep from just exploding?
I know you parents can feel my pain.
There are just some days when you feel like everything is working against you, and you are tempted to lock yourself in the closet and plug your ears and cry in the fetal position.
Not so much an option with toddlers and babies, but the thought has occurred to me once or twice.
Sad when a shower is the only “me time” that I have these days.
But some things are just not optional.
I don’t have the luxury of escaping into the big grown up world of business and commerce anymore,
This is my world, and I love it, but sometimes its a lot to handle.
I know this is where I am supposed to be,
and that in itself makes it a little easier.
When you know you are in the right place at the right time in life,
there is a certain peace that you feel that just cant be fully explained,
it just is.
I guess for every easy day, you will have some hard ones.
I just have to keep reminding myself with every passing trial and every silly little stress-filled mishap I have to learn to laugh at myself.
I’m an extremely blessed woman.
I have three amazing kids.
I have a wonderful husband, who works his fool head off so I can stay home with my munchkins.
I have to remember that even on the bad days, my life really is a good life.