When Parenting Gets Really Hard, Lean In

It is 7:31 in the morning and she is standing beside my bed. “My green night light went off.  Isn’t that funny?” And then, abruptly, “I’m hungry. I want ‘ogurt.”

I haven’t even opened my eyes and already I am needed. Is this every mother’s battle? Or just mine?

Her breakfast was made and served before my glasses were on, my face was washed or my coffee was even poured. If you’re wondering if it’s not easy preparing food without your full vision, it’s not.

I tried not to turn the TV on this morning. But then I did. A mom I don’t ‘actually’ know on Instagram wrote a post about using TV like a tool; something to help you when you’re weak. And so, I unapologetically turn on Puffin Rock, then walk into the bathroom and silently close door.

I look in the mirror and get deep into all of the thoughts in my head. Too deep.

And by the way, have you always looked this tired, Danielle?

The day carried on as some days can with three-year-olds: stomping of feet that led to a timeout, a plate of food for lunch she didn’t like, a thousand will-you-play-with-me’s, a naptime unslept.

I was finished by 2:00. Finished.

I wanted to turn the TV on again until Sean was finished with work. I wanted to bury my head in the pillows on the couch and close my eyes. I wanted very much to retreat in my introverted ways.

In parenting, this state of exhaustion becomes the place where Cannot, Should Not, and Will Not converge with one another. 

There are so many things I could and should do, but I just cannot do. But always lingering there in the background is what I will do. Because what I Will do is always different than the Cannots that I prefer to embrace.

I will rise from the couch.
I will find a smile through my annoyance.
I will embrace the moment for what it is: fleeting.

I count to five and stand up, exhaling. I walk to her and bend down. “Let’s do something together,” I say, letting her joy and forgiveness fill my own spirit. Her energy is contagious. I soak it in and begin again. “Come on, June.” She holds my hand and we walk upstairs to the playroom.

On days when I was frustrated and snappy, when I ran out of energy before my coffee was even finished, when I asked her to “PLEASE give me quiet time for just a few minutes,” when I let out one too many exasperated sighs, and when I asked her to fix her own problems, I hope she knows I tried. I tried very hard to put down all of the things in my hands to hold her, to lean into my annoyance by creating afternoon activities, and to always put loving her first.

I tried today, despite it all, and I’ll try again tomorrow.