Yesterday morning, I was up at 6:07 with the baby (though he did sleep through from 10:30 so I won’t complain about being tired). I sat down on the couch to feed him and pump (thanks to my still overabundant breastmilk supply) and as I cradled his sleepy head in the crook of my right arm, rhythmically squeezed my pump with the left hand and flipped through Facebook on my phone with my right hand, a skill I’ve mastered over the past few months, I saw a meme a friend posted and it hit me like a ton of bricks:
We’ve had a lot of hard weeks lately. It’s been days upon days of my children being too wild, screaming at each other, intentionally (and unintentionally) hurting each other, making huge messes, being sneaky, arguing, not following directions…
I would love to chalk it up to having taken on too much in life. Or hubby being out of town, again. Or my being exhausted and hormonal from having a newborn. Plus homeschooling two more and potty training a third. Or trying to be a mediocre blogger. Or my slacking on giving them my undivided attention while I try to juggle everything in life. Or the recent change in the weather. Or the full moon (is it even a full moon?)
But the why doesn’t matter, what matters is the last word above: failure.
People can go on and on about how great my kids are. How busy I am and how I make everything look so easy. Or what a fantastic mommy I must be, but the reality from my point of view is that my life has a way of making me feel like a failure.
Like when my seven-year-old aimlessly wanders out into the middle of the parking lot when we are walking into the dance studio.
Or when I turn around from trying to figure out the best diaper deal at the grocery store to see my three “big” kids whacking each other with wrapping paper rolls.
Or when I leave the baby just one more minute (that turns in to 20) and he overflows his diaper.
Or when I ignore my toddler’s screaming because he’s tired and I really just need to go to the bathroom and then watch him pee all over himself because I didn’t realize he was telling me had to go.
Or when my five-year-old comes to you crying because her feelings are hurt and you just don’t have it in you to comfort her so you brush it off and tell her it’s silly.
Or when hubby comes home from a long day at work and feels obligated to clean as soon as he walks in the door because your house looks like a tornado went through.
Or when I pour my everything into a blog post while (literally) juggling screaming babies and homeschooling that I think is pretty awesome and it gets a handful of reads.
Or when I just can’t do it anymore and I lose it, spiraling into a fit of rage, yelling at everyone in my path for the silliest reasons.
It’s not the sort of accidental mommy fails that are somewhat humorous but the kind that replay in your head over and over again and tear away at your soul. The things that you want so desperately to be better at. That you would go back and change if you could.
But you can’t and instead the failures just continue to pile up and you never feel like you’re getting anywhere as your daily obligations multiply, your to-do list grows and your wish list gets dusty.
The light at the end of the tunnel shrinks to almost nothingness as it gets further and further away. And you desperately want to give up but you won’t, you can’t. You trudge on. You kiss your babies and do what you can. You try to ignore the feelings of failure and inadequacy and dream for a day when it’s easier and you feel even mildly accomplished.
I know the day will come. I know my babies will grow and be more self-sufficient and I’ll miss their tiny cuddles. I know that a clean home is not important but the moments I share with my children are.
Yet I just can’t get away from the opinions of others. I can’t help but feel like a failure based on the expectations I feel others place on me as a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, writer, person. I try to do it all because I feel like I have to: If I don’t, who will?
And it seems no matter how hard I try, no matter what I accomplish in a day, there is always more to be done, places or times when I could have made a better choice. But that’s life I guess, just constantly trying to be better versions of ourselves.
