I’m exasperated. There’s no other word for what I’m feeling right now.
Ok, there are a few other words.
The last few nights have been quite the parenting challenge for me. I’m on my own with both kids in The Big Apple while my husband takes care of some major plumbing issues at our cabin in Vermont. My mom is not available to help me since she hasn’t yet returned from a vacation, so it’s just me.
I’m not going to sugar coat it. Since we got to New York, my children have been having an extremely difficult time adjusting to the time and environment change. This has never happened before. Baby Shnook traveled about once a month from the time he was six month’s old to the time he was eighteen months- while we went back and forth taking care of my mother-in-law during her extended illness, so he was used to being carted about, but since we returned from Vermont last summer before Fuzz was born, we’ve only been to the East coast one other time.
So, now I’ve experienced three nights of my exasperation/frustration/depression, which I took out on various inanimate objects: the pack-n-play, the air mattresses (I HATE air mattresses), the fitted sheets that I was attempting to put onto the air mattresses, the six-month-old cat that was trying to sleep in the pack-n-play, etc. I am in what seems to be a permanent VBM (very bad mood- as coined by my mother). Sometimes, although I’m ashamed to admit it, I even raised my voice at my children. I know this doesn’t help matters, but sometimes it just got to that place. I was that pissed off, I said things I regret saying, I yelled, loudly. There were lots of tears. My own, and theirs too.
I don’t want to feel guilty about how the last three nights have gone, but of course, I do. I told my sister about it, who reassured me that everyone has moments like this. I think it even inspired this post. Even now, the first night I’ve been able to sit at my computer and jot down a post, it’s not even feeling cathartic. In fact, I’m still being tested by the kitten, who seems to like me a lot, as he ‘s trying to lick my fingers as I type. I’m too tired to think it’s funny or cute.
The only mildly hilarious story I have to share is today when Shnook–who is about to be three and refused his nap for the third day in a row–and I had the following exchange:
Me: “I need a break. Why don’t you play in your room for a while and I’ll tell you when it’s ok to come out.” (P.S. I learned this from my RIE teacher)
Shnook: “I don’t need a break.”
Me: “I need a break.”
Shnook: “I DON’T need a break.”
Me: “No, I need a break.”
He played in there for about 20 minutes before he asked (sweetly and politely) if he could come out. It was very helpful. At least occasionally, we can have a reasonable conversation. Fuzz, on the other hand, although he’s napping, is still way too worked up and wide awake come bedtime.
What do you do when you get to this place with your children? Do you ever have days when you want to pull your hair out and cry? That’s how I’m feeling these days. All I can do is chant the mantra: “This, too, shall pass.”