Sometimes as I cue up my second TV show of the day while the girls nap or drink my third cup of tea of the morning while they play together quietly in their room I feel a little guilty. Golly gosh, my husband is working so hard all day and I am just eating cookies and watching the Vampire Diaries.
Then I have a after school experience like this morning where both girls are freaking out over minor but to them tragic things. I had to chose who to bring in and leave one standing in the snow because the garage door is broken. Hand washings involved forced holding over the sink and the carefully prepared for and requested sandwich was thrown to the ground in disgust. Naps didn't happen even though they were clearly needed and I had given them the exact formula of blanket, toy of the moment, and particular Sesame Street book needed for sleep.
Then I feel like a million dollars is not compensation enough for this and that I need a glass of wine at 12:30pm because my heart rate and stress levels are reaching heart attack status.
Besides a few romantic interludes (all with my husband of course ;)) the most intense moments of my life have been with my children. It was not surprising to me how much I love them, how sometimes just the sight of them can bring me to tears.
What was surprising is how intensely I can loathe them. How they can enrage me to the point of screaming. How many times I would have to walk out of the room or put them in the crib or hold them at arms' length, literally pushing them away from me.
My sister took me slightly to task for something I put on Twitter about this subject, joking that I better watch out or CPS would be calling me. And I have gotten the impression that other mothers are a little startled by my blog. It makes me wonder: is it really only me who feels this way?
As harsh as my words may read sometimes on the computer screen, I don't fear that my children will feel as if I didn't want them or love them. Because they know, I know that they know. I love on them and hug them and tell them how beautiful they are to me and how they are everything to my life. And I plan to never stop.
And sometimes I am even grateful for the rage because I know that it is the same force in me that lets me love them some openly. I wear it all on my sleeve, for better or worse. The intense emotions are what keep me going after mornings like this one, that make me want to stay home, that as cliched as it is, make it all worth it.