It is Sunday. I have about 2 more hours with the kids. I am tired. My fuse is about a centimeter long. Today has been miserable.
On the bright side, I haven’t felt like this in a long time.
Every day used to be like this. And I know why it’s happened again. Tessa has the croup. She stayed home from daycare on Wednesday and Thursday and I had to pick her up early on Friday. She’s been waking up at night, too. So I’ve been home every day. I’ve been tired. And even though I’ve been working, I’ve been home all the time and my life has been far more parenting than working.
When I used to feel like this, it was before I had a job and even before the split. I managed the kids almost all the time then. I rarely got a chance to leave the house by myself, not even to run errands. It was all mom all the time and I was pretty miserable. It was easy back then to feel like I just wasn’t cut out for parenthood in general. I’ve had that feeling more than once. And there have been plenty of times where I felt like it was true.
But the fact that I’ve gone through a lot of time where I haven’t felt like this shows me that I was wrong.
I felt like I couldn’t do it when Graham was little, then came his diagnosis and I realized that I could do it, I just needed help. That’s exactly what it is. I can do it, I can even enjoy it. It just doesn’t happen all the time, it doesn’t happen when things get tough.
I need a break. Or help. Or a change of scene. And these aren’t unreasonable. They aren’t too much to ask. They don’t make me a bad mother.
It just makes it a bad day.
And that’s not so bad.
Now just to survive the next few hours.