Sometimes I'm not a good mom. The secret's out. Actually, it's no secret. Unfortunately, I think anyone who watches me parent for longer than an hour can see it.
And I'm not talking about the little things. Like the fact that I sometimes act like I don't know they're getting into trouble just because I don't want to deal with it. Again. Because I've already wasted so much of my breath telling them that day NOT to do what they're doing.
Or that I sometimes give them stickers after they've begged for them, just because I want something to occupy their time. Even though I HATE that they put them on EVERYTHING.
Or that I call them by the wrong name ALL the time, sometimes going through all of their names before I figure out who it is I'm actually talking to. Yes, Mom, I've turned into you in that way. I'm sorry for giving you crap about that when I was younger.
Or that I don't give them baths every single day. And some days I even forget to brush their teeth. And make them wash their hands.
Sometimes I even go weeks without trimming their nails. Horrific, I know.
It's not even those things that brand me a "bad parent," in my mind. If you've read my blog, you've heard me mention more than a few times that I have the worst patience in the world.
In fact, I'm sure I don't have any left at all. Just ask my children and my husband. And the handful of customers at the gas station that heard/saw me blow up at Sam in the car while Dave was filling up. I yelled. Loudly. Even maybe screamed a little but.
And people stared. And Dave was embarrassed. He told me he'd never been so embarrassed as an adult.
Yep. Ouch. Talk about being put in your place.
But I deserve that, I really do. I've been working on it, hard. I've been trying really hard not to yell at my kids when they frustrate me and talk over me and try telling me what to do. Or scream in my face, "No!" repeatedly while I'm trying to instruct them.
Breathe, I tell myself, even now, because just thinking about it speeds my heart and heats my core.
And if I don't gain some measure of control over it, I fear I'll have a heart attack by the time I'm 35. Either that or a whole head of gray hair (IF I have any left by then). Sometimes I just don't feel cut out for the parenting thing.
Because I know it's not my kids who need to change. It's me, 100%. They're just being kids. It's the name of the game. I'm the one who's acting up.
And I know, I know. Every mom feels that way at some point. And I know everyone's kids drive them crazy, and every mom loses it. But I do feel a little more out of control than most, a little less tolerant.
Okay, a lot less tolerant.
And I don't get it. I don't get why I can't handle things in the same way other people can, or how I can be filled with so much rage or frustration, when at the same time I'm filled with so much love for the little people that drive me to insanity. Because really, my favorite thing in this entire world, no matter my mood, is hugs and kisses from my kids.
So how do I calm myself, how do I feel normal inside, so I can actually feel like a decent mom? I know I've made posts similar to this before, but it is PYHO Wednesday. So I'm taking advantage. Again.
I don't like being this way. I don't like that every little thing gets under my skin and I react before I can stop it. I hate it, and I want to change. And I'm trying. But some days, I just don't feel I can measure up.
Some days, I just want to cry.