I had this really great post, all about how my kid had her first little-child moment regarding theft. Yes, my child was a thief last night, in a candy store, no less. It was a funny story, but? I just don't have the heart to be funny right now.
I feel like pregnancy hormones have kicked me in the butt. Hard and swift. I woke up with a hangover-type-headache, yet only from all the borderline hyperventilating type cries I shed at 12am, practically scaring the pants off my poor husband.
You guys. I reached my breaking point last night. I felt completely out of control. I could not, for the love, stop crying.
But, let me back up.
Yesterday, my husband worked 2nd shift. This isn't a normal thing, in fact, this was the first time. So he was out of the house from 11am-9:15pm. Which meant that momma was in charge of nighttime routine. Honestly? No big deal.
I thanked the sweet baby Jesus when Emeline went down without a peep at 7:15pm. I had her out at the mall all evening, and we were both pretty exhausted. But instead of going to bed, which I know, sounds crazy-early. I just sat on my tush with my feet up, watching trashy television like the Women Tell All (those girls crazy yo') and waiting to greet my hubby home. By the time he came home, we caught up with our days, we watched a show together, then ended up heading to bed a little after 10. Except, I didn't.
You see, at that exact moment is when I heard Emeline get up, screaming bloody murder, at the top of her lungs--standing in her crib in protest. I thought maybe it was her molars, so I went in, gave her a dose of medicine, and this is where she'd normally just fall asleep in the rocker with me, then I'd lay her down for a blissful night's rest.
She was a wreck. A wreck. Except she wasn't really. She is smart now. Like, so beyond smart. So she will throw out every excuse in the book. I want daddy! Where's my puppy? (followed by the most pathetic-sad-cry-ever) I need milk! I watch a show! Go downstairs! etc etc etc. She tries EVERYTHING. Every trick in her little almost 2-year-old book. And I knew I couldn't give in.
Plus, I was so tried. So tired. I just wanted to crawl into my bed and cuddle under the covers. My body is growing a human. I'm sleepy. I need my rest, too, kid.
But instead I just sat there, holding her, singing Amazing Grace literally 2938201938 times. Literally. It's the softest and sweetest sounding song I could think of. Within that next hour, she laid her head down multiple times, fell asleep, would then POP back up saying HI MOMMYYYYYY and then do this on repeat about 23832 times. It was ridiculous. She should be TIRED.
I laid her down again. I went back to bed. She screamed as if someone was murdering her. It was awful. I can't handle that for long. I also can't handle knowing that my neighbors could think I'm a neglectful mother, which I'm not. So I treated her like a newborn again. Cradling her, shushing her, while she's telling me all these things she wants & needs. Daddy. Milk. Mac. A show. To go down the steps. Read a book. EVERY EXCUSE HER SMALL BRAIN COULD THINK OF. All I could think was, when you were a newborn? At least you didn't shout demands at me. Sheesh.
It was around this point where I'm holding her in my lap. She's being the booger of the century, and I literally burst into tears, right there, in the chair. I think it was the painful exhaustion taking over, honestly. Like, sobs & sobs. And it was also RIGHT THEN that my daughter started laughing & giggling in my face about it. That's it. Momma? Breaking point.
I had avoided going into get Declan's help for long enough. I was trying to be respectful of the fact he was working back to back shifts, and getting up at 5:45am to work a full day---but I couldn't do it anymore. I put her back in her bed, and ran into our room--hurled myself on the bed in hysterical gasping cries, waking my husband.
Honestly? It was crazy weird for me. I cry. But not LIKE THAT. I couldn't catch my breath. I was saying things like, I can't do this with two kids! I have reached my breaking point! I feel like such a bad mom! My tricks aren't working! I can't stand another minute in there! BLAH. BLAH. BLAH.
Declan was sweet. Saying reassuring words. Getting caught up on the last two hours of madness. Telling me I'm a good mom and just to relax. Breathe. He'll take care of it. But I didn't wanna botherrrr youuuuuu, I wailed.
He didn't huff. He didn't seem upset at all.
Because of my cry-fest, on top of just being tired, I fell asleep within seconds of him leaving the room. Which never happens. Typically, I have this awful mom guilt that I'm not helping, and end up going in there to be a support. But this time, I had nothing left. I felt empty. I felt tired. I couldn't do it anymore.
I remember him coming back into the room. When? I have no idea. But I know he mentioned she was finally asleep.
This morning when I went in to get her, I was greeted with a room that literally looked like it EXPLODED. Blankets everywhere. Books strewn about. Sippy cups. Dirty laundry thrown everywhere. Stuffed animals & blankets everywhere. It looked like a warzone, and I laughed a little.
I took a quick picture & sent a text to my husband. Her room exploded, eh?
His response: Hey, I got her to sleep didn't I?
The point is this. I hit a weak spot last night. I didn't feel strong anymore. I lost control of my emotions and I let my not even 2 year old stress me out to the point of no return. And you know what? I don't feel bad about that. Because I'm human. Mom's have a hard job. No matter how many kids you have, you'll feel weak at some point. You'll have breaking points. I did. I do.
I woke up this morning praying for a new outlook on today. Praying that I wouldn't let last nights situation dictate the kind of mother I'd be today.
Can I blame the hormones?