There ARE times when I seriously hate my husband. Or at least moments when I believe that I do. But mostly, I hate something he does or in many cases does not do. In therapy I have learned again and again that when I am intensely upset, my reaction is reflective of old unresolved pain more than it is that particular moment. (Knowing this does not
I do lose it regularly with my husband and have done so twice with our older boy and not yet with the younger (in a way that he knows). With both, it was postpartum madness/exhaustion(after baby#2) and arguing with Andy that made me too fragile to handle even little situations.
Ernie had stepped in dogshit after I had just pointed it out. Then, because he was only 2, he failed to properly cooperate as I attempted to cautiously remove his brand new 68$ poop-caked Stride Rite shoe. He was A BABY and I, in the meanest voice I can imagine with a snarly face said, (God it makes me sick to remember this.): "Pick up your fucking foot now."
Regardless of my actual words, my face and tone easily suggested "I hate you." I cried immediately as I explained/apologized that I had used a mean and scary voice and that it was wrong. I hugged him and told him I loved him and that Daddy would be coming home so mommy could rest and do a better job tomorrow. I immediately called Andy at work to demand he come home because I was too tired to be trusted. The lump in my throat is immense as I recount this. I have still not forgiven myself for this, but hope and believe that Ernie has.
During this same time, Bert's reflux allowed him to only sleep 22 minutes at a time while being carried by a person in motion(generally me). He nursed every 40 minutes for 30 minutes. You think, cool, you got to sit down, at least. I lost almost 25 pounds in these months after Ernie arrived. There were times in the night or when Andy returned from work and I would hand Ernie over like a sack of moldy potatoes and say "Take this fucker, now". And then instead of sleeping, I would cry from exhaustion and fear. I apologized to sweet baby Bert also. While apologizing does not fix a thing, a commitment to do better is hopeful.
On another dazzling occasion, Ernie was sitting in his car seat saying "get out get out" and after one too many, I told him: "We can get out when we get home. AND if you say it again I will turn the music loud so I don't have to hear it." He did. I did. Not Nice. I apologized after we were home right before I requested that he apologize too. We worked it out.
So anyway, this post began because I wanted to expose today's brief but bad parenting moment with you. I will begin by sharing what I learned. That is: When I am neglectful of my boys needs, they become pains in the asses. Fair enough. Neither of them are even 3yrs old. Naturally, they require a lot.
On our 2nd day rainy day in the house, it was silly for me to think I could load the dishwasher,pay bills, and fold laundry while they entertained themselves in a way that would suit me. Bert opted to repeatedly pound on King Simon and play in the trash while Ernie was using a stool to reach and clear everything off the counter to the floor. Instead of trying to remain checked out, I checked myself.
I initiated a game of hide and seek and we were all much happier.
Poor guys, they have so much to teach me. Please feel free to share some of your less flattering moments, especially if you have acted as hatefully as I. Please email or use the comment box so we can all benefit. ALL, me, along with my 3 readers. Your confessions are safe here.