Today was hard.
I yelled at Auggie more than I hugged him. He bit, and threw, and wouldn’t listen. I got more and more frustrated, and he cried and whined maybe more than ever before.
Sadly, today isn’t an anomaly. He’s been fighting for independence and rebelling for two weeks now, and it has me questioning a. his well-being and b. my ability as a mother, or maybe more so, my choice to become one.
I’ve always loved Spring for the sense of motivation it instills in me. I have less anxiety, I feel happier, and I spend more time on my physical wellbeing. Spring is what I consider the best version of me. (I mean I just turned down a text from my husband that said “ice cream?” after a hard day. It doesn’t get much better than that!)
Typically, spring has been a season of self-reflection and redirection, and this spring has been no exception. Only this spring, I’ve been battling unproductive thoughts around my reality.
Maybe it has something to do with the passing of Mother’s Day, the increasing amount of pressure I feel to try for a second child, or the tantrums I’ve been putting out for days now, but spring has me questioning what I would be doing if I weren’t a mother.
I have friends in foreign countries vacationing, some just getting married, others moving up in their careers, and I.. well, I spend my days at the discretion of an almost-two-year-old whose feelings toward me change so fast, I have whiplash. My neck and body are sore from holding the weight of him as he bashes in anger, and my heart is heavy with his discontentment.
As we took our daily walk around the neighborhood this morning, visions of what it would be like to not have become a mother kept jumping into my head. I imagined watching TV on a weeknight, a full night’s sleep, my pre-baby figure, and the freedom that I once knew. That one struck a cord.
There’s freedom in only looking after ones self. There’s the ability to take a day off, to jump on a plane, make a career change; to make a decision that only impacts one.
Even more than that, there’s mental freedom. There’s so much freedom in only caring for yourself. Who cares if you eat cereal for dinner three nights in a row? Who cares if their vehicle has less than a 5-star safety rating? Who has to stay up half the night researching all the potential reasons their toddler might be having a hard time, and then spend the other half of the night worrying about said things?
Me. That’s who.
I spent the whole day pondering my containment, as I continued to execute our routines.
Nap was short. Dinner was exhausting. Bedtime was no different than normal. Today was nothing extraordinary. It wasn’t one of those super rewarding parenting days, and I didn’t tackle everything on my to-do list. But as I lay in Auggie’s bed beside him and type this, I can put all my thoughts to rest.
Parenting is hard. Being a mom is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, and it sucks about 80% of the time. But there’s this other 20%, and it’s enough to power you through the bad days. The terrible days. The days you want to run into the sunset.
I’m reminded of that as I feel my little monster breathe softly and slowly beside me, peacefully. I sense his security in my presence. I remember that he kissed me unprompted after being angry. He giggled and cheered as I filled the water table, and that regardless of my lack of freedom, sleep, and me-time, I’d choose him over and over again.
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