About a month ago, Peanut decided to punish us with one of the worst form of torture known to mankind. Sleep deprivation.
Yeah, yeah, she probably didn’t do it on purpose… or so she would like us to believe. Me, I’m starting to think she’s playing with us.
All of a sudden, overnight, bedtime became a nightmare. She didn’t want to sleep, thus, none of us could either. Crying, screaming, stomping of feet, begging, hair pulling was done by all. Then gradually, she slept better and better and again, in a snap, she was not only sleeping through the night, but she was going down quietly. We haven’t had that since December.
Toddler torture is baaaaaaaaaack!
Last night, Peanuthead stood in her crib crying piteously on and off for 45 minutes with me going in at intervals to calm her down before she settled.
Yeah, she slept through the rest of the night. But with one last cry here. A cough or two there. What this does is it keeps me on “alert” mode. Which means I don’t sleep soundly. Which means I don’t get a full rest. Which means I start becoming psychotic again.
People think I’m kidding, but I’m not when I say after one week of this, I literally want to stick a fork in my eyes. Every couple of weeks of this, I want to bash my car into a wall. I want to quit motherhood. I start thinking, “That kid’s doing this on purpose!” D’s more rational response of “Poor kid’s starting to get a cold” will have me snarling, “I don’t f’ing care!”
I just don’t have it in me anymore to withstand sleep deprivation.
Then, I really start becoming a bad mother and wife. Yelling at Soso because she’s moving at her usual snail’s pace. Banging pots because Peanut won’t eat the dinner she was eating just 2 seconds ago. Telling D, no I do not want to give the Nut a bath or put her down. EVER!!!!! You do it all!!!
It really doesn’t help when I have no real life support what-so-ever. I swear, where I live, everyone’s like the perfect moms. They all have 3 kids who are in at least 3 activities each. The children (the girls anyway) have nice hair in cute bows and braids. They bake cupcakes for their kids’ birthdays and bake sales. They throw BBQs on the fly. They chair and volunteer in multiple events. They love being mothers, why else would they have given birth to 3 kids??? To add insult to injury, their hair looks nice and they are in shape!
AND. No one ever complains. Ever. If anything, they are like, oh it’s not that hard. WTF?
If they ever heard me ranting and raving, they probably would stop sending their kids over for playdates! Me, at least one a month… Okay, twice. Oh, who am I kidding, every other freaking day I’m crying, WTF was I thinking? Why did I ever become a mother? Why on earth did I think two was a good idea when I could barely keep my schmidt together with one? Oh God, please help me! (That’s an actual prayer for help and not me being sacrilegious).
Fortunately, I do have one BFF who’s imperfect and one support person from my post adoption depression days who chime in to assure me that I’m not alone. Other “bad” mothers exist all over the world, including my Stepford town. I know I’m not alone, but in my town? I feel very alone.
Will a bad mother please step up and go get a coffee with me? Then, bring me back to your house to show me your two weeks of dirty laundry? Your furniture covered in month old dust? Tell me that in fact the coffee in your Starbucks coffee cup is vodka straight? Oh, and lose your cool just one while dropping an f-bomb or two? Please? Pretty please?