The biggest shock to me after going through infertility and all the pain and longing for kids is how much I sometimes hate being a mom. Those first few bleary weeks when I hardly slept and would be crying at three in the morning because Desmonda would not sleep unless I held the pacifier in her mouth and Calamity Jane just wouldn't sleep at all. As I cried my dear husband would turn to me and say "Remember, you wanted this" which somehow was comforting. Though if he said it to me now I would probably want to smack him.
The "I wanted this" mantra worked for the first year or so but as the the girls have gotten older and the tantrums have gotten more intense I have had to step it up by replaying all the happy times in my head just to remind myself why i want it (much like I have had to replay my best of when I am not in the mood,if you know what I mean). So during the screeching I think about all of those sublime moments of motherhood (having them snuggle on my lap as I sing "You Are My Sunshine", laying on quilts and looking at the clouds, watching their first movie on a rainy afternoon, seeing them break into a smile when they see me) and go to my happy place.
Especially on a late afternoon like this one where most of the day has consisted of arguments over toys and chasing of the dog with maniacal glee. And Desmonda repeating "I want to Go! Go! Go! I want to Go!" ad nauseum. By the way Desmonda, go WHERE?! Just tell me and I will gladly take you there if only to escape from the endless whining for a few blessed moments. But there is no answer on where to go, only definitely not on the potty. Because both adamantly refuse to even think about going near the potty and I will be changing diapers until I am forty, why did I even bother using cloth...
until the cycle starts again.
My husband, after being left alone with them for an afternoon while I run errands (read: go to Target and wander around aimlessly for hours) or when I take a shower (Sunday morning showers = best twenty minutes of my week), often tells me "Damn this is hard". Yes honey, that's why I am twenty pounds overweight and a borderline alcoholic. When the happy place doesn't work, I turn to wine and her best friend Snacky.
Lately though the stress eating and drinking is getting to me. I feel sluggish and more grumpy. Okay not really, that's something I read in one of the numerous "women" magazines i get. Actually I was horrified by the little donut I was sporting in all the pictures from my recent girls weekend. And I am not talking about the chocolate covered kind (chocolate donut with sprinkles, droool Homer style-see this is my problem). So like all my healthy streaks, this one is fueled by vanity.
For now, no more stress eating and for as long as I can do it, no more wine (two whole days, no applause please). So my happy place needs a new addition. Yoga for me and the kids? A babysitter? Maybe that Baptist preschool wouldn't be so bad. In case none of these ideas work out: where is your happy place?