Last night was no pony ride, awake every 2 hours on the dot. 30 minutes of changing, burping and bottle feeding. Another 45 minutes to an hour soothing my newborn back to sleep. It’s not always like this.
Just the night before we were going 3 hours between the shenanigans and the night before that we were getting 4-5 hours. #newbornlife.
Last night made me tired, exhausted. Healing from a C-Section that occurred just 10 days prior wasn’t helping.
In the midst of my groggy tiredness I wake up to a tiny voice in my head, except it wasn’t JUST in my head. My 2 year old was at the side of my bed asking for her millionth drink of water and in the same moment I hear another tiny voice coming from the hallway exclaiming “mommy I pooped my pants”. Again.
In a matter of milliseconds I could feel myself engulfed with anger, frustration, disappointment, exhaustion. I wanted to cry but knew I had a dry mouth to hydrate and a butt to clean. Not to mention if I didn’t do all of this quick enough I would be risking the chance at another 15 minutes of shut eye before our new addition could decide to let out her pterodactyl cry.
Rolling onto my side and hoisting myself into a sitting position for the 5th time in the last hour, I could feel the tug and tears at my incision site.
My two year old still standing at the side of my bed repeating the words “can I have a drink” for the 15th time. I could feel my face get hotter with frustration as I let her sip from my cup and felt the fire coerce through my veins as I watched little pieces of paper she had been chewing on contaminate my drink.
I know what you’re thinking. Anger? Really? Aren’t you overreacting?
Runny poop drenched my 4 year old’s trousers, it ran from hip to ankle.
I hate cleaning poop. Dog poop, kid poop, my own poop if by chance I don’t wrap my hand with enough toilet paper. Poop has always stirred up the anger within.
Don’t get me started on farting.
Crouching down to wipe the gooy poo from my 4 year olds body I could feel the pressure my body was putting on the cut in my tummy. I was hurting. I was angered and frustrated and in that moment, I lost my shit…
My ooy gooy poo covered child began to cry as my voice escalated from a stern tone to a loud yell. I could feel my face getting hotter and my words sting his heart. I knew I was going too far, letting my anger and frustration get the best of me.
I could feel tears start to swell behind my eyes as I finished cleaning the last drop of poop from his tiny little ankle. At this point I managed to silence myself as I threw the last piece of paper in the toilet and began to flush without realizing how much I had piled in. Imagine my frustration as the toilet water inched it’s way to the golden thrones rim.
After sending my teary eyed child to his room and slamming the toilet seat down, wishing the clog would magically fix itself I made way to my room with feelings of defeat, exhaustion and guilt.
Sitting on my bed, snoozing newborn by my side, I covered my face and gave permission to the flood gates to break way.
Thankfully my shit was only lost for a couple of minutes before I dried my wet face and made my way to the bathroom where I fished the clog from the toilet and tossed it in the trash.
On my way back to the room I called for my son so we could talk through the shenanigans that had just taken place.
Sitting in front of me, cross legged and wide eyed with anticipation I could feel the guilt in my bones recognizing that my baby was just a baby. He needed what was said next to be free of the anger and frustration that had been building inside of me this morning.
So with his hands in mine I apologized. I apologized for yelling, for wrongfully placing blame. We talked about the importance of pooing on the toilet and not in our pants. We talked about how hitting hurts and touched base on alternative solutions to feeling frustrated with his sister.
After all was said and done, we gave our hugs and I love you’s. I walked him to his room, tucked him in bed and turned to leave for my 15 minutes of shut eye before seeing a perfectly round turd sitting at the edge of his bed.
Parenting is hard. This is not my first time overreacting. And as much as I’d like to deny, It will most definitely not be my last. The most important thing to me is communication with my children. They have to know that us humans, we aren’t perfect and we are gonna mess up… A lot. But if we have the ability to reflect, talk it out and be strong enough to admit fault then we are at least headed in the right direction.
I don’t have all the answers and I’ll prolly sit and come up with a million more things I could or wish I would have said but at the end of the day I love these little people. I’m lucky to have these little people and I will never stop working towards being the best mommy I can be for these little people.