One of the things about me and my mothering skills is that I feel very proud of my ability to be patient with my children and find ways to encourage them to do things they don't want to do in a calm, fun way, or not a forced way. At least I felt I had these skills until recently. Lately I've been having some challenges with my almost four year old.
For the most part I have used this writing space of mine as a place to discuss the joys and humor of motherhood and how my girls are the sparkles in my eyes. I have not wanted to write something for them to see later that might make them think I didn't like them or something. A part of me still chooses to keep this blog innocent. The other part of me thinks that's not really reality.
Reality is over time my girls are going to make me cry, be so angry I could spit and so frustrated I want to pull my hair out. And....well, I'm going to provide the same feelings to them. That is life. That is parenting. That is being a mother...and a mother of girls.
So with all of that said, lately I do not feel like I have a three year old. I feel like I have a thirteen year old....and it is frustrating the crap out of me. Maybe the only difference between now and ten years from now is that when my daughter makes me angry, she wants to give me a hug very soon after that incident. I don't see that happening later in life.
What I've been dealing with is constant (constant) debate, argument, stubbornness and drama. (Yes, I am aware I have daughters and that comes along with it.) Being at home now, and with my girls all day, every day and trying to get stuff done and trying to be productive and trying to keep them engaged and entertained and this and that is catching up to me.
This is really hard for me to write about because I don't like to feel needy or that I can't handle something or that I need a break. I begged for this opportunity to stay home, and the fact that I could complain at all doesn't feel right. But lately I wake up and my debates begin at breakfast over drinking milk and don't end until concluding that only one book will be read tonight, not two or three or four or five.
Not only is there debate all day, but I don't seem to be doing anything right anymore. My daughter loves to pretend and role-play. I do not enjoy this. I enjoy her creativity. I enjoy the dialog she comes up with. I do not enjoy getting my script and being told to do it again and again and again because I am not doing it right, I do not speak correctly, I apparently do not even breathe correctly.
I met a woman recently who has two daughters about the same ages I have, maybe a little older. She was telling me how she cannot wait for her baby to become the age of her older daughter. She said, "I really just don't enjoy motherhood with my baby. I really just don't feel like I'm going to 'shine' as a mother until they get a little older." This comment struck me hard. I feel just the opposite. I am scared to death to lose my babies. I thrive on the first three years. I'm worried my shining days are about to end....and what if I'm a horrible mother from here on out?
I'm not depressed. I don't feel defeated. I go through waves throughout the day. I'm just feeling a little lost and trying to search for my new game plan. I still love every bit of my girls, of course. I'm just wondering what happened to those skills I was rockin' a year or two ago when my oldest was throwing carrots at me or collapsing to the floor in the department store or screaming at the top of her lungs in Target. How could that possibly be easier to keep a happy face and a pleasant tone than what I'm dealing with today?
Is it me?
