|It’s been one of those days.|
Today has been an up and down kind of day.
It’s my first day taking care of the kiddos solo since we found out little baby wasn’t meant to be.
I kinda hate that phrase — but there you go.
I thought I did OK this morning. But you know when you just NEED a good cry? Well, I needed it, and my kids weren’t letting me have it. I just wanted a few minutes to myself — OK, a good 5 — and instead Maddy in particular kept interrupting me.
I know that I should be a BETTER mom because of my losses. I should be MORE patient, MORE resilient, MORE whatever. But I’m not.
I’m just a mom who sometimes can’t handle the whininess, the neediness of her kids without feeling anger or irritation.
I read a post a while ago that I’m starting to really relate to. It’s called Monster Mommy.
I don’t yell very often. I’m USUALLY pretty even tempered, at least to them. But inside, I get so angry and frustrated with the lack of gratitude from my kids.
I know they don’t understand. I know they don’t get that mommy had to pry herself out of bed today, when all she wanted to do was lay in bed and cry. They don’t get that she didn’t feel like cleaning up puke, changing another poopy diaper, cleaning up puke again, making breakfast, cleaning up breakfast, making lunch, managing the whininess over lunch again and again and again, cleaning up spills, and holding onto the handle bars to the bike when the child is just whining (yet again) about being scared.
All while trying to salvage my emotions, and try my darndest to accept the fact that my baby is dead, flushed down a toilet at a gas station, and I don’t know if I’ll ever have another chance again.
I know they don’t get it. But for some reason I just want Maddy to show me a LITTLE bit of gratitude that I am TRYING.
I am thankful I got pregnant — but so irritated that we had to lose this one. I was supposed to go on birth control last month, and twice, when I went to pick up my prescription, for different reasons I couldn’t get it.
So when we got the positive test, I couldn’t help but think, “God really must have wanted me to have this baby if He prevented me from getting my birth control.” Now, I know that’s faulty logic — but I couldn’t help but think it.
I couldn’t help but have hope.
And now I can’t help but feel resentful toward my beautiful kids (who, despite the tone of this blog, I really do love very much).
I know they are each miracles. And I can’t help but feel that if I can’t be thoroughly grateful for these two, I don’t deserve another one anyway.
I don’t know. I guess it’s just a “mommy’s in a funk” kind of day.