The Story Of A Tuesday

 

This is the story of Tuesday.   Most of the time I feel I have a good handle on my son’s needs and Tuesday was the day he threw me a curve ball. Tuesday was the latest day to remind me that I’m clearly not ready to remove my new parent training wheels.

M away for work so I was flying solo for the morning routine.  I laid out his clothes, packed snacks and the daycare bag the night before – look at me, adulting like a champ! Now all I’ve got to do in the morning is get us both dressed, fed and out the door in under an hour. I’ve completely got this.

You see it coming don’t you? I didn’t got this. Not at all.

Tuesday morning my normally sunny even tempered son had multiple tantrums, that to my new neighbors probably just sounded like 45 minutes of screaming at 6AM.  Oh my god, I bet we will all be such good friends! Nothing starts a friendship better than hysterical children crying first thing in the morning, right? Right?

I picked him up and he shrieked to go down.
I put him down and he demanded to come back up.
I gave him food and he sobbed.
I took the food away and he pointed imperiously and cried for more.
I tried changing his nappy but since that’s awful on a regular day, I can’t even tell you how bad that was.
I gave him his dummy and he threw it at me.
I gave him his water bottle, and revelled in the two minutes of blessed peace until that flew across the room as well.
I gave him a book, which got pushed to the floor in a rage.
I gave him Panadol as a last resort, and he wailed when he finished the syringe. He has to be the only kid in history to enjoy Panadol.

I end up with him on my lap spooning porridge into his mouth, with regular breaks for bellows that sound like a constipated walrus.I burst into tears when the cat meows inquiringly from the stairs and suddenly Bear is all smiles. Great. There is now porridge all over my shirt (rookie mistake getting dressed before breakfast. You’re better than that dammit) and the cat is a better parent than me.  Fan-friggin-tastic.

Right. We are in the car. We are heading to daycare. A little late, but still. Go Team!!!

Dammit. He’s brought Fox. Our daycare doesn’t like kids to bring toys in case they get lost.
That’s okay, he always drops it in the car.
Of course today is the day he didn’t drop it in the car.   Today is the day that he holds onto it with a grip of steel. You can’t do that while we’re doing the grocery shopping kid?
Walk into daycare and get reprimanded for presence of Fox. Cannot bring myself to care.
Commence daily ritual of Bear crying hysterically like I’m going to war only to abruptly stop as soon as he can no longer see me.  It’s hard not to think this is a deliberate guilt trip.

Finally I get in the car to drive to work and I feel.. relief. And guilt. Always guilt. My dirty little secret is at the moment there are a lot of days I prefer being at work over being a mum. Fixing a computer seems so much easier than calming a tiny person who can’t tell you what’s wrong or where it hurts. I know that tears and tantrums are a regular part of parenting a toddler. I know that with the move, and his dad being away we were primed and ready for the mother of all meltdowns. But still the sanctimummy in my head is telling me it’s my fault.  I feel guilty because if I didn’t work, if I had that extra time with him, maybe just maybe I would understand what he is trying to tell me. I’m frustrated and sad  because he’s trying to tell me what he needs and I’m just not getting it. That as a working mother, I am constantly letting someone down.

Today I choose not to listen to that little voice that constantly tells me I need to be perfect. I take a breath, drink my coffee and remember that this will pass.  Tantrums aren’t forever and it’s okay to feel relieved at the prospect of being Tory for a few hours and not Mummy. One day he will be able to get for himself what he needs and he won’t need me anymore.  Most importantly, when I come home, we will both forget about this morning in a glorious flood of bedtime kisses and bathtime giggles. I will cuddle him to sleep, safe in the knowledge that I am enough.
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26 comments

  1. Oh it must be hard cos I’m sure they don’t often know what’s wrong either… just that nothing’s right. I know friends of mine have said most really young kids aren’t manipulative -and that gene doesn’t kick in for a while so they’re not making lives miserable on purpose… #nohelpatall #sorry

    1. Wierdly though it does help. Everyone just needs to keep telling me over and over – he’s too young for guilt trips, because those morning drop offs are killer. Luckily he’s super cute and I have a short memory. 😉

  2. ‘Sanctimummy’ lol love it! I’m going back to work in a few weeks after a year off and I’m feeling a bit like it’s going to be a break – begone you mum guilt!

    1. It’s hard to start with. But it does get easier. For me it got easier when I saw how my son thrived at daycare. He went from not even rolling at 11months to crawling around everywhere 2 weeks after starting.

  3. Oh, I feel your pain! Some days, it feels like you just can’t get it right but at the end of the day you are doing an amazing job. A friend once told me that motherhood is “learning to feel guilty about everything”. I laughed at the time but now that I have kids I can see where she was coming from 🙂

  4. You’re allowed to say that it’s easier to go to work than it is to stay at home with your child! You’re not the first to admit it and it’s TRUE! Even in my demanding job I joke that going to work are my days off.

  5. You are enough Mama! I can totally relate to this…my 2 year old is currently going through the ‘terrific twos’ – yes I call it terrific, because i need to remain positive through this ‘phase’, otherwise HE wins – he must not win! lol…keep on keeping on Mama.

    Thanks for sharing with us at Friday Favourites.

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