Fast Forward, Rewind, Play, Pause and Delete Delete Delete

There is a manic quality to motherhood that I do not particularly enjoy. Or maybe there is a manic quality to my motherhood. The highs are just lovely, those moments when I think how lucky I am, when I think not only how much I love being Madeline and Avery’s mom, but also how I excel at it. But the lows really suck. I hate those not-so-great moments when I feel like I am holding on by a thread and when I feel like I am not the mother I want to be and I should have my mothering privileges taken away from me.

Like this morning: I was at a store picking up Nicole’s anniversary present and the girls were incorrigible. Full-on obnoxious toddler mode. They were both screaming and kicking (fighting over a blanket) and causing such a scene that the guard at the store came over to see what the fuss was all about. I tried to calm the girls down, which is always a challenge when there is an audience. There I was, clenched jaw, measured words, unheeded pleas, getting nowhere fast. I failed miserably at getting the girls to relax. In fact, I needed up getting kicked in the jaw by Madeline. So I gritted my teeth, made a hasty selection that I hope Nicole will like, rushed my purchased, declined gift wrap and even a bag, and high-tailed it out of there. Of course, once we were back on the busy street the girls were just fine. And I was livid.

Rewind to earlier that morning. I had an incident with Avery. She refused to get dressed. This is not new for her: This girl loves her jammies and would stay in them all day if we let her. In fact, she will often disappear in her room and take off her clothes and dress herself in jammies randomly during the day. But this morning, I needed her to get dressed. I had a long list of Things to Do: Laundry, gift, post office, food store, cleaning, phone calls, packing, picking up the car, tracking Nicole’s flight (I take this very seriously). And we needed to get started right away, and there was no time to cajole Avery into dressing.

I tried to remove Avery’s jammy pants and she kicked and screamed and flailed like she usually does. I begged, pleaded, bargained, reasoned and in general tried all the sane, Good Mommy methods I know to get her dressed. None worked. And it pushed me over the edge I was already teetering on. I got so angry. I yelled at her, and told her that she would stay here alone while Maddie and I left. I put her in her room, closed the door and concentrated on putting on Maddie’s coat and shoes, trying not to let my anger at Avery spill over to her. Avery became hysterical and cried so hard that she threw up. She wanted to go too, she yelled. She didn’t want to stay home all alone. I told her she couldn’t come because she had jammies on and because she wasn’t listening to Momma. I put her back in her room, closed the door, and continued to talk in a calm way to Madeline, who, by the way, is unfazed by Avery’s meltdowns.

Now I don’t need anyone to tell me the myriad ways this is all just so wrong. I let my anger, frustration and impatience control me. I “punished” her by threatening abandonment. Abandonment! What the f*ck? I didn’t comfort her when she was crying. And I gave her the silent treatment for about 20 seconds. I know. I felt like a monster and ended up on the floor in tears myself, hugging her and apologizing and, yes, letting her go outside with her pajamas on because I just didn’t have it in me to continue the battle. That is NOT the mother I want to be. That is NOT the method of parenting I want to pursue. I don’t want to dip into this territory of mothering ever. Or look at it this way: If I hired a babysitter who did any of this, I would fire her on the spot.

Nicole has much more patience than I do. And while I will say for certain she is, by nature, a much more patient person than I will ever be, she also is not with the girls as much as I am. She calms the girls in the same way she has calmed me when I am upset: Calm voice, hand on chest, instructions to take deep breaths together. And I try this method sometimes with the girls and it usually works. But I am not always in that place, that place that lets me approach a situation in a calm and rationale way. What can I say? I am human and sometimes I am not on my game. And when mothering is a 12-hour breakless day, I have my bad moments. (And yes, I know it is a 24-hour a day/365 days a year kind of thing).

I know yelling begets yelling and anger begets anger and impatience begets impatience. I try to think “Is this the type of mother I want my girls to be to their kids someday?” After all, they will model our behavior, for better or worse, and parent the way that they were parented. So in a way I am parenting them, and their children, and so on and so on. That’s a lot of pressure. Sometimes I take deep breaths and count backwards. Sometimes I walk out of the room/area/situation and take a moment to compose myself, even if only a few seconds. Call a friend. Call Nicole. But these days, that impatient side of me is rearing its ugly head instead.

Rewind to earlier this morning. The girls slept with me last night since Nicole was still away. This morning I woke up early and stealthily slipped into the kitchen to have some coffee and catch up on email/internet/blogs. Twenty minutes into my alone-time, Madeline scampers in, all sleepy and sad and wondering why I wasn’t in bed. So I took her hand and let her lead my back to bed. We curled up together, her little hand curled around my fingers, and I watched her fall back asleep. Avery was next to us, sprawled out in the exact space-hogging way she favored in utero. That was a good moment. I felt calm and peaceful and grateful and happy and needed. And even though the day started so good, it still deteriorated into what I described above. I wish I could rewind and tart over, or fast forward it, or, even better, just delete it.

Nicole is cruising along at 608 miles per hour (yay for tailwind) at 37,000 feet. Less than an hour and a half away. Told you I took tracking seriously. Once upon a time I used to think, an hour and a half away from reunion. Now I think an hour and a half away from relief. Ugh.