Monday, June 14, 2010
Tonight has been one of those nights, where I couldn't possibly find another tear in all of my frustrations, to release. My oldest pushed me beyond all of my boundaries, my youngest witnessed it all, and the one growing inside my belly was forced to listen in on the chaos, and prepare itself for the insanity that it will be born into.
The guilt that I feel, when my youngest has to watch me discipline my oldest, breaks my heart in half. The look on his face, when I take away his playmate and send her to her room without dinner, is enough to kill me- no matter how many times I return to him with my soft spoken baby voice. I just can't get over the hurt that I can see hes feeling.
I sobbed on the bathroom floor tonight, while giving my little boy a bath. I took my glasses off, set them on the closed lid of the toilet set, and cried uncontrollably. But while crying, I continued trying to read him his soap sud covered Winnie The Pooh bath time book. I tried to act like nothing was wrong, while pointing out "ball", and "boat". And I think the fact that I tried, must have made at least some amount of difference.
My hair and shirt (both shirts actually, since I wore white today- and my bra) were soaked, from the shower that I had to give the naughty one, after she took it upon herself to pee all over the floor in the living room, for no reason other than "she wanted to". I had to drag her up the stairs, after making her at least try to clean up her own mess (she had literally been splashing around in it- why God, why is she acting out like this?). So at 7 months pregnant, I had to grab her by her punching arm, and pull all 45 fighting pounds of her up to the second floor, and get her under control, and cleaned up.
Dinner remained on the counter collecting flies, and the puddle of pee remained on the floor, creeping closer and closer to a favorite blanket.
Her baby brother tried to get into the shower with her, crying the entire time. I'm not sure if he was upset that he wasn't getting a bath and she was (even though she wasn't), or if he was upset because she was upset, and he was trying to save her. Such a little hero, he is, and its the sweetest thing.
In between my shouting "Charlie, go play in your room while Mommy cleans Seesaw!", the little guy's love for his sister (or, his love for the bath tub) did manage to bring a smile to my soul. I'd say it brought a smile to my face, but the constant yelling at both of the babies, either "stand still so I can shampoo your hair", or "go play so I can shampoo her hair!", while getting pounded in the face with warm water droplets, were preventing anything other than anger and complete and total desperation from coming across.
And you have to know that there were other things that had lead up to the destruction of our day. The oldest running away from me (into the yard, into the neighbors yard, into the street) and laughing about it, knowing there was no way I could possibly catch her. The "NO!"'s, the bullying mean girl behavior, the stealing of the toys, the purposely hurting her brother (she pushed him up against the wall with a big plastic coupe car- seriously child, why?), and the constant disobeying. In the end, it all just added up, and exploded.
After she was clean, I simply wrapped her in her towel, told her to step out of the tub, and sent her to her room. She knows how to put on underwear all by herself, she knows how to get under her blankets, and she knows how to close her eyes and go to sleep. There was nothing more for me to say or do for her. Her teeth could go unbrushed for a night. Her hair could stay tangled.
When her Daddy came home for dinner on his lunch break (I'm sure his recent switch to swing shift has to play a part in all of this somehow) a few minutes later, he went into her room, without saying even one word to her, and got her dressed and tucked in. He then finished giving the baby a bath, so I could walk away from all of it, and finish putting his sad excuse for a dinner together (peanut butter and jelly biscuits, really? some wife I am). I skipped dinner, myself, not having any bit of room for even the slightest amount of hunger amongst all of my rage- and I got down on hands and knees and scrubbed up the pee puddle, which by this time had spread out into a lake. And then I picked up all of the toys. And then I did all of the dishes. And then I swept all of the downstairs. While I was doing all of that, Christopher had put the baby to bed (I had kissed him all over his little chubby little Charlie face, the way I do every night, so he knew that Mommy was ok, and that I still loved him oh so very much), and then he had gone back to work.
God sure has blessed me with an amazing husband. I love that he came home, and in the short time that he was here, he did exactly what I needed him to do, without me saying anything (other than crying, because I did a lot of that), so that I could regain my strength and find my peace. I love that he ate a meal that was less than perfect, and acted as if he enjoyed it. I love that he told me to ignore the chores (even though he knows I never could), and demanded that I sit down and relax for the rest of the night (pffft, for the weak).
I don't normally post about days like these. Or, if I do, they're mentioned very briefly, and only with humor. But sometimes I feel like maybe documenting it the way it really is, the same way that I document things with photographs, might be just the release that I need. After the story has left my fingertips, I can take a step back- and I'm able to see where I was right, and where I went wrong.
That being said. This weeks photo challenge over at I Heart Faces, is "All About Babies". I probably wouldn't have even sat down and rambled through my Mama Drama, had it not been for this photo challenge.
I know that this picture has nothing to do with the words of this post, but in a way, it has everything to do with them.
This is one of my favorite pictures of Charlie. He couldn't yet walk, he couldn't yet talk, he couldn't even sit up by himself.
This was last spring. We had just gotten our new patio set, and we had been enjoying our morning coffee outside every morning, before the haunting Texas heat rolled in. Charlie had been sitting in my lap, but kept reaching for my coffee cup, not allowing me to do anything other than move it farther away from us, out of our reaches. When it came time for me to take a sip, I propped the little baby up on the tabletop, and hurried into a slurp. Just as I was about to swap my mug for the baby- I noticed that he had caught his reflection in the table, and was perfectly content getting to know the strange new friend in the glass below him.
Those are the moments that make everything worth it.
All of the arguing, and all of the bad behavior. Every time they test me, and every time they tell me "NO!". Its all worth it.
Who cares that I had to get down on my hands and knees tonight to soak up my 4 year olds act of defiance. Who cares that I didn't make anything other than biscuits for dinner. Who cares that I had a complete and total meltdown while sitting on a childrens blue and green octopus themed bath mat.