Some days, I’ve got too much stress.
School is cancelled this morning.
I already stress ate a dozen sugar cookies and it isn’t even 8 am.
My husband has been working overtime. This means, as a work-at-home mom, I am working overtime. I don’t see him and with the amount of exertion it takes to get four kids out of the house, most days I don’t see anyone above the age of four either.
Some days it’s glorious. I don’t even look in the mirror. I take care of my home, laugh with my kids and get teary-eyed when they learn something new.
Today is not one of those days.
As a mother of six-month old teething twins, I don’t sleep. You might notice blogs posted at 2 am because I have been up every 4 minutes and 30 seconds since 9 pm and thrown in the towel on rest. Some mornings I am already up drinking coffee at 3 am. This was my sleep pattern last night:
Let’s just say this creates a hostile home environment and too much stress.
When the amount of sleep you get in a day is the mere total of blinks in 24 hours and then you have four children demanding all the things, you get a little terse. Right now, I am hiding in my room and just having the cat rub on my body looking for attention is sending me into a blind rage. I can hear my kids begging my husband for milks, shows, pens, artillery and I can feel him inching towards the door, afraid to bother me but more afraid of the demands of these four terrorists.
So far, today, I have experienced:
- Three broken Christmas bulbs.
- One broken coffee mug (at which point I believe my three year old learned the term “cocksucker.”)
- Uncorking constipation in two babies.
- Being shit on twice.
- Realizing since I quit breastfeeding I have lost three cup sizes.
- Cried in memorial of my breasts.
- No tampons. Had to dig out giant pads from last labor and delivery stay.
- Kids decided the dog needed a Christmas list, so now I have to squeeze in another shopping trip this week.
- Forgot to hide that fucking elf.
- Dog peed on my diaper bag. Probably pissed I didn’t already have him considered in my Christmas shopping.
Did I mention it’s 8 mother-fucking am?!
All I want to do is hide in a dark movie theater and fall asleep with warm nacho cheese dripping off my chin.
Instead, I have to go back in there and start the day or restart the day since it hasn’t even officially begun yet.
Oh, just take a day to yourself, you martyr, you’re thinking.
Yeah? And then what? Did a fairy come in and wash my laundry/dishes/kids while I was gone? No? Sweet. Now I have three times as much work when I get back.
It’s a vicious cycle.
So, like all moms, I must sit here, scream a menagerie of curse words into my pillow, Google “cleansing breaths,” try a couple and head back in there. I might not have a smile on my face quite yet, but I am ready as I’ll ever be.
These are the days we wish to get back, right?
Comment below with your worst parenting days to make me feel better!
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