A Week of Defeat and Pity Parties

So I didn't post a blog last week... Or by my self-made deadline yesterday either. 

I was woman-down with an awful 4-day migraine last week and this week I felt so sorry for myself that I actually lost my sense of humour for a bit (which is serious. I always find a joke to make in everything, especially when I feel uncomfortable).  

Does anyone else sometimes feel as though they are failing miserably at this mom thing? I want to be a momspiration - not to others, just to yesterday's me... which seems to be far too much to ask lately. 

On Wednesday night I found myself hiding in the bathroom (pretending to have a 'number two' so no one would come in), crying. Did I really just freak out about crumbs on the floor? Mid-lecture (more like rant actually) about not messing (or something just as stupid), I realized that I had been rambling on and probably had gotten my point across a good 3 minutes ago. "So why am I still shouting?" I wondered. I could see I had totally lost them. So, off I retreated to the safety of the cold bathroom. I felt helpless and undeserving, throwing a pity party on the loo for myself and the two cats who followed me in there.  

The next morning wasn't much better either. I dropped my kids at school and droves off to work feeling miserable and tearful for having a meltdown about something that no longer seemed significant anymore. I sat at my desk looking like I had been through Hurricane Kelly (my hair the oiliest it had been in probably my entire life - so oily that it was now 2 shades darker than when it is clean. Not even dry shampoo worked anymore), wishing that the coffee I was drinking was an Irish... or just a mug of plain whiskey. It was only 7:30am and wasn't even "that time of the month" (I threw my hairdryer at my husband when he asked if it was). 

I think the problem is that I had built up a romanticized version of motherhood in my head. I mean, how hard could it be anyway? People in movies and books seem to be able to do it pretty much with their eyes closed. I would have a perfectly messy bun and still look skinny, rocking ripped jeans, trainers and a baggy shirt with some cool hashtag slogan on it (without looking homeless at all). I would come home from a full day's work, dressed in a pencil skirt and killer heels and put on my shabby-yet-cool, very worn apron. I would throw open the fridge door and wip out a couple of random ingredients (like spinach, baked beans and spring onion), chucking them together to make a healthy-yet-delicious quiche (which my kids would obviously love and eat without 100 prompts). My husband would then get home to find the kids making a puzzle (or something equally educational) at the dining room table while I baked some fresh bread from scratch or sewed Casey a new dress/sock puppets for Luke. We would then bath the kids and I would pop to the gym three times a week for my spinning or aerobics classes while Barry read our angels a story and put them in bed. 

Ha! What a joke. The truth is that my jeans are ripped, but not on purpose (they ripped when I jumped around the bedroom trying to get them over my hail-damaged thunder thighs - also the only kind of squats I have done in literally months). I don't own an apron, just a hardly used oven glove and I have no idea how to even roast a chicken. My kids would rather eat dirt before touching a quiche, and the first thing I do before "throwing together" their (healthy) microwave meal is switch the TV on (or something equally un-educational). The only real exercise I have done since March is run after the dog with a chewed lunchbox in my hand shouting "what is this???" at the top of my lungs and the only thing I know how to sew is a button (which may or may not fall off a day later). Hopeless. Totally hopeless! 

Let me tell you, this week - instead of lying in bed and sighing happily from feeling accomplished (as per my crazy mom fantasy) I fell asleep on the couch (drooling) feeling like the wind has been knocked out of me, wondering if the kids will remember my embarrassing crumb melt-down tomorrow. Barry then woke me up to go to bed and I grumpily marched off to our room with a sore neck, promising myself to be better tomorrow (and also to actually go to bed when I am tired). 

Being a mom is amazing. It is a gift, truly. I am greatful everyday for my two blessings... but at the same time I feel it's only fair to admit that it is also gut renchingly, soul destroyingly hard sometimes. We love them so much and so fiercely that the thought of being anything but perfect for them drives us to exhaustion. Well, me anyway. 

So, on Wednesday night, after my toilet pity party, I decided to go for a bath. I got undressed and just stood there, staring at myself in the (unflattering) full length mirror and the (even more unflattering) bright bathroom light - totally starkers. I looked at my sagging shoulders (and boobs if I am honest), dirty hair, smudged make-up and my larger-than-average thighs, bum and tum in disgust. I felt completely and utterly defeated. 

This week I let it get the better of me. I let that ugly inner voice conquer me and I have to admit, motherhood (and my stupidly high expectations of how it should be) totally kicked my ass. I guess the good thing is that there are more moms like me out there than I thought who I can relate to. That those perfect moms we see in movies and books are just that - stories! And that tomorrow is another day to try be a momspiration to yesterday's me.