A few days ago, I had one of those days. You know, the ones where nothing goes right? Where you literally can’t believe the ridiculous series of events that is unfolding before your eyes?
The bad day was actually a few days in the making. It started, as most things do, with a rough night of sleep. I’m trying to wean Ell-Bell from her night nursing, but she has other plans. She doesn’t want to cut back, in fact, she’s been trying to wake up for an earlier feed. I know things will never get better if I give in, so we’ve been butting heads. Two nights before “The Day,” Ell-Bell woke up ridiculously early to eat, and it took me half an hour to distract her enough to get her back to sleep. Before I could fall back to sleep myself, though, K-Man was awake and crying hysterically. I still don’t know what was wrong, maybe a bad dream? But it took me another half hour to get him back down. Then I drifted to sleep for … two … glorious hours, before Ell-Bell was awake and demanding to eat for real this time. I gave in and nursed her, because I was SO TIRED OMG. Only, after I finished nursing her, she was not ready to go back to sleep. I finally got her down and returned to my room, but before my head could hit the pillow, she was crying again. She had pooped herself. Ugh.
When I woke up for the day, I was not happy. Hubby and I had a major fight, obviously inspired by the fact that I had had a terrible night with the kids, and he was awake for zero percent of it. Hubby got pissed with my attitude and left for work early, which enraged me. Seriously, when he punishes me by peacing out, I lose my mind.
Anyway, we exchanged apologies by text a few hours later, like we pretty much always do. And that evening, Hubby felt super guilty and treated me to Chipotle. And then after the kids went to bed, he went out and got me Sonic mozzarella sticks and ice cream. Yep, we’re gluttons. Come at me. But my tummy wasn’t feeling that great and I actually wasn’t very interested in even more food, but I stuffed it down anyway because (a) I have no self control and (b) I wanted to accept Hubby’s peace offering.
I went to bed early because exhaustion plus tummy ache, and I couldn’t wait to feel better after a good night’s sleep. Only, I didn’t get a good night’s sleep. At all. Ell-Bell was awake from 12:30am to 3:00am, sparring with me about eating. I held strong for hours, you guys, but every time I would get her back to sleep, she would wake up again only 10-15 minutes later. It was torture. In the middle of it all, K-Man woke up again (what the heck) and needed attention, all while Ell-Bell was screaming her head off in the room next door. At least this time, Hubby woke up to help out. I finally gave up and fed Ell-Bell at 3am because I NEEDED sleep. Then K-Man woke up again at 5am and wanted me to “sing songs.”
Two hours later, I was awake for the The Day and not feeling it AT ALL. I had no idea how I was going to make it through the next 12 hours. And stupidly, I weighed myself. I was three pounds heavier than the day before. Fack. Who knew eating two dinners and dessert would pack on the pounds so quickly?
I spent all morning just trying to power through, all the while day dreaming about nap time. I couldn’t wait to put the kids down, turn on the fire, sip some tea, and watch my YouTube videos. And maybe fall asleep for a bit.
When 1:00pm rolled around, Ell-Bell went down for her nap like an angel. My mouth watered as I was one step closer to my glorious anticipated break. Only, K-Man had no visions of napping. He. was. fucking. wired. Like, I can’t remember the last time he was so awake at nap time. He wouldn’t lie still. He actually wouldn’t even lie down. He was jumping on the bed, flailing his body around wildly, asking for milk, asking for water, demanding to go potty for the one zillionth time. Every time I left his room and went downstairs to make my tea, I would hear him jumping down out of bed and opening his door. We played this game for an hour and a half. I watched about 10 total minutes of YouTube (in two minute increments), and sipped cold tea between visits back upstairs. When K-Man started screaming at the top of his lungs, I gave up and brought him downstairs. I couldn’t have him waking up Ell-Bell.
Ell-Bell woke up after 20 more minutes or so, anyway. I threw some goldfish and milk in her direction, set K-Man up with some paint and paper, and opened my laptop on the floor to cyber shop for a bit (#therapy). I was doing some deep breathing, trying to figure out how to turn the day around despite being unbelievably bummed that I got no break at nap time.
And then, as K-Man was putting away his paint, he failed to screw the lid on tightly for one of the containers, and he dropped it on the rug. I watched horrified, in true slow motion, as green paint splattered across my light-colored rug, onto the adjacent wood floor, and up onto the brick hearth. Holy. fucking. shit, I thought to myself. Is this really happening right now? (As an aside, if you have any idea how to get paint out of brick crevices, please enlighten me.)
As I was crouched down with my face in the rug, pep-talking to myself and vigorously scrubbing the green paint-affected areas with a soap-and-vinegar mix, my son–who insisted on playing with his cars basically on top of me as I worked–accidentally lost control of one car and smashed it right into my eye socket. And I lost it. Not in an angry way, no, I started sobbing. Crying big fat heaving snotty tears into my newly-green rug.
While K-Man is a total butthead, he’s also a softie and a sweetheart, a total empath. So he launched into a series of efforts to make me feel better. “Don’t cwy, mommy. Isss okayyy, mommy. I give you a hug and kiss and you feel better, okay mommy? You need a toy mommy? Here, ha’ dis car mommy. You want another toy mommy? You want dis one?” It was so cute and ridiculous that I started laughing between sobs.
“You feel better mommy?” K-Man asked.
Just then, Ell-Bell crawled over and showed interest in K-Man’s toys. So I said, “I would feel better if you shared your toys with Ell-Bell.”
K-Man’s face changed as he pulled all of his toys closer. “No, you be sad mommy.” Major eye roll.
A few minutes later, K-man squatted down and took a ginormous piss through his undies, right there on the family room floor, even though he had peed twice already in the potty in the last hour. At least he missed the rug, right?
I already had a stash of paper towels nearby, so thankfully I cleaned up the pee with little effort. As K-Man resumed his car play, he taunted me: “Cwwwyy, mommy!” I take back everything I said about him being a sweet softie.
At that point, I gave up. I scooped my two kiddos up and brought them into the living room and turned on Trolls. Some days, you just gotta. As I sat there and watched Trolls for the hundredth time, with K-Man sprinting back and forth on the couch, jabbing me in the spine with his elbows and knees as he passed, I thought to myself, this is really fucking hard. I’m glad I’m doing it, I have zero regrets, I love my kids to the moon and back, but still, this is really. fucking. hard.
But, on the bright side, and in the words of the famous Princess Poppy, if you knock knock me over, I will get back up again.
Until next time,