Can we take a moment to talk about guilt.
More specifically, mom guilt.
Not to be confused with the guilt your mother made you feel for not cleaning your room or something, that is an art form that will be learned in time. No I am talking about the all consuming guilt that you are a terrible mother.
I know I can't be the only one out there that feels this way.
This week was super challenging at home with Sarah. Her sleep has been off, she is getting really frustrated with her lack of communication and I am pretty sure she is getting a mad case of cabin fever. By mid week she was a screaming, crying mess and I was at my wits end with her.
It hit me like a ton of bricks on Thursday, I had had a night of terrible sleep and had been up since 2 am. Little miss woke up an hour and a half earlier than usual which I knew would throw off her whole day and it did.
My patience is something to be desired and is something that I work on daily because, lets face it, people with no patience are usually assholes and I know I get this way, I hate to admit it, with Sarah. I feel terrible and I try to correct myself when I feel like I am getting overwhelmed but Thursday I had nothing.
She would take my hand and walk me in to the kitchen, and just scream. I gave her juice, she threw it. I made her breakfast, and she smeared it all over the table and fed a great amount to the dogs. I yelled, I refused my hand to her. I am trying my damnedest to point and say what things are hoping she will pick it up and finally say "juice", "snack","bowl", "cereal"... anything. But instead she just screams.
Sarah is 19 months old and has yet to say an actual word, she says Bah Bah for bye bye, and bab for baby, Si for yes (no idea where she picked that up) and Di for done.
She hasn't just looked at a ball and said "ball" and for that I feel like I have failed her in some way. I tried, early on to incorporate reading time in to our daily schedule but she would have none of it. She would rather be running around climbing on something.
That day, the day of her screaming, and my patience wearing thin, I can honestly say that once my husband got home I went upstairs and only came back down to make dinner. I needed a break from her and the rest of my family. I mean I actually missed her, sitting up in bed looking at pictures of her I missed her. Then I would hear her scream and I knew I just had to be away from it for a while.
I begged, pleaded and prayed for that little mini me, just like I am for our second. And the weight of the guilt I feel when I admit that I "needed a break" from her is more than atlas feels holding the earth. I mean a perfect mom wouldn't need a break, she would be, first of all showered with a bra on, but filled with an awesome amount of calm and grace that I just don't have on a day to day.
I know some of her behavior was in response to mine and I just kept repeating to myself when I was upstairs, alone, "tomorrow is another day".
... I woke up with a new hope after a great nights sleep and she was just as cranky as before.
So what did we do, WE DANCED!
I figure if you can't beat um, dance with them instead.