When Motherhood kicks you in the arse
A sweet coworker who always asks about C asked how my Mother’s Day was. She was probably expecting a simple and sweet response about how good it was. Instead, I said, “It was just awful.” Her smile faded and she stopped stirring her coffee.
“You said ‘awful’?” Obviously that was not what she was excepting to hear.
Let me tell you about my Mother’s Day – the day with the worst track record for me.
Cillian had not been sleeping well all week. Starting Wednesday night, he was up multiple times each night, and some nights he was up every twenty minutes for two hours. My husband and I were miserable going into the weekend. How quickly we forget howmuch worse it used to be. Heck, I basically wrote the book on terrible sleep!
Saturday night became Sunday morning, and at 2:30am, Cillian started (what felt like) his new routine of waking up and crying for us. Just like we always have, Jon and I took turns going in and putting him back to sleep. Sure, we could ignore him and let him put himself back to sleep, but laying in bed listening to my crying child is harder than just getting up and holding him, and it usually takes longer. After our 4th (or was it the 5th?) trip to his room at 4:30, my husband and I decided to call it. We pulled the plug on our good-night’s-rest and got up to greet the day.
He made coffee. I rescued the little hellion from his prison of blankets and bears.
To put credit where credit is due, Jon made me my favorite breakfast of French toast and coffee. He’s hired. Cillian proudly brought me my fork and napkin before sitting down, acting all sugar and spice, and gladly sharing my Mother’s Day breakfast with me. We snuggled while we watched Moana. I took a couch nap at 7am.
I might owe my coworker an apology. My Mother’s Day was not awful, it was real. It was full of diaper changes, little boy giggles, toddler tantrum, bargaining, laundry. Somewhere in there I took another nap. My husband got one too! It was not a magical day full of bliss and mom-appreciation, but it did show me how much of a mom I am.
It reminded me that only I can kiss my son’s ouches and make them better. It reminded me that my husband needs me to help him conquer the meltdowns that happen for no reason. It reminded me that motherhood does not require pants, and does not always offer showers. Some days, Motherhood kicks your ass.
I spent the majority of the day just trying to stay afloat while attempting to not leave the couch. I did not speak to my mother. I ignored a phone call from a friend. I did not post a lengthy, sappy, Facebook-worthy status about mothers and blessings. I barely responded to text messages because my phone spent most of the day in the hands of my toddler. Anything to keep him calm. We were in full survival mode at that point.
The more I thought about this “Mother’s Day from hell” the more I realized that day was full of the stuff motherhood is made of. Why is the idea of a day all about mom some fantasy dream that does not reflect motherhood at all? No house keeping? A day in bed? No children calling for us? Sounds more like my twenty-first birthday than Mother’s Day.
Without those things, we would not be mothers. Sticky hands, snotty kisses, unexplainable tears – those things make up the sweetness of motherhood.
This is my motherhood.