Some days it’s so hard being a mom. I’m sick — cold/cough/body aches/chills. I can barely keep it together. To survive, I let Noah watch too much TV. At one point today, AJ was napping and I was sitting on the couch with Noah, while he was watching TV and he was pulling my hair as he does for comfort and I snapped and said, “Noah, that fucking hurts.”
I didn’t react because I didn’t want him to realize I said a bad word. But I hated myself in that moment. I hated myself a lot today. My short temper with Noah.
And then during an otherwise miserable day, there’s these moments: Noah painting on his easel; Noah making french toast; AJ being AJ at 6 months, so cute I want to eat him.
I try to hold onto those moments because I feel like a bad mother and wife so many times throughout the day — the house a mess still from before Xmas and I don’t have the energy to do much, other than feed my kids and play a few board games with Noah.
Being a mom means not being allowed to be sick. To sleep in bed all day and eat saltine crackers and chicken noodle soup can’t happen any more.
Sometimes I look around my house and I want to throw everything away and start over. All the clutter. I want to be an organized person but I don’t know how to be. My kids and husband don’t make this goal any easier.
To have one week back before my loves sucked everything from me. To tell that person in her 20s what life becomes — to tell her not to waste so much precious time drinking and sleeping and doing god knows what. I’ll be 37 in 2 months. What have I done with my life?