Mama said there'd be days like this... I just didn't know it'd be today.

 I don't even know where to begin.

I guess I'll fill you in on the picture here right now.  I'm currently sitting on the couch looking at a sea of toys scattered everwhere.

Everywhere.

That's just the toy mess in this whole hot mess right now.

My kid is in his bed screaming goodness-know-what hateful toddler tears at me.  He is SO tired.

How dare mommy put me down for a much needed nap.

I'm shoving heated up left-over casserole in my mouth while I type, because I have to type, but I haven't eaten yet, and I'm starving, but I'm starving to let this out.  So I chew and type.  And hey, at least a toddler's not pointing at every bite I eat and wanting it, so really this is like a vacation.

I'm not sure who has more blood-shot eyes today from lack of sleep and crying, me or the kid, but it's a sure close competition.

Just keeping it real.

I have a confession.

Ya know the moms who really struggle with the infant phase?  The at-a-loss lostness?  The begrudging?  The feelings of bitterness?  Of being suffocated?  The end-of-the-rope tightrope walk day after day?

That wasn't me.

I LOVED the baby stage.  Ate. It. Up.  In the hospital, after I had Silas, I nearly immediately declared that he would indeed be a big brother, I was definitely having more of this amazingness (which he will, and I will- another lil boy's due here this fall).  I remember that first year... even plus a few months... exclaiming how every day just got better and better and each stage was more and more fun.... and they did, and it was....

And then something stopped.

This is my confession.

That struggle... that begrudging... that suffocation... that end-of-the-rope... that I expected to face in those first several months....

they're hitting me like a mountain now.

Maybe I'm not cut out quite right for the toddler phase...

Maybe it's the discipline joy we get to have now....

Maybe it's the fact that we've moved 2 times in the not-quite 2 years of his lil life and moving takes such a toll and family and friendships are hours away.

Maybe it's that I'm pregnant now and I don't glow and am only running on maybe 10% between the sciatica and hormones and CAVING IN pelvic floor, and my pregnancy with Silas seems like a breeze compared to being pregnant with a toddler in tow.  And when I was pregnant with Silas I read every baby up-date and just sat and felt my belly move and now I swear if it weren't for the yucky symptoms I'm pretty sure I would forget I'm even pregnant.

Maybe it's the fact that my son is an early riser, and has never been a good napper and in the time he naps I can maybe get a shower and have a few sips of coffee, maybe.

Maybe it's the fact that we're currently living in an apartment that's filled with all our stuff from our last house, mostly still in ugly boxes, and there's not even hardly any window space we can see out of and we trip everywhere we can walk, which isn't much area, and the neighbors are SO noisy... I mean, I know we need to love our neighbors as ourselves but so help me, right now as I'm desperately wanting my kid to fall asleep I swear they are just jumping up and down above his room and I want to go up there and scream for them to SIT DOWN for the love just SIT.

Whatever it is, all I know, is that today by 11am I was standing over the sink, face in hands, bawling, SOBBING, while my kid bawled too and screamed at me and we both sobbed and then as I sobbed harder he switched to laughing, because I guess he thought it was funny, and this made me sob harder.

And the toys are everywhere, and his pee is all over the floor, and we have to change outfits AGAIN, and I've been up for almost 5 hrs and have not stopped for a stinking second and yet NOTHING is done and we are late for something AGAIN and the house that I cleaned yesterday is a mess, and we're a mess and it's one. big. mess.

When he was an infant I was prepared for these feelings and prepared for these tears and prepared for these days, but they didn't come and certainly anything close to this was rare.

And it only would FEEL like he would be yelling at me, and now... now no doubt he IS yelling at me.  And I WANT to yell at him and it takes every last little ounce that I have in me to NOT yell at him and to maintain some type of calm as I deal with him but inside I am depleted.

Utterly.  Depleted.

And then the mommy guilt comes.  And the thoughts of women with real problems come.  And I feel bad for feeling so sad and I want to do better but I just keep falling on my face.

In the back of my mind I hear the whispers of clueless women who say such genius things as...

"If I was a stay-at-home mom I would be SO bored."

"What do stay-at-home moms even do all day??"

Heaven help me.

Sheesh, what do I do all day... when nothing's done??

I dress him.  Just getting his pants on can take hours.

I take him potty.  He throws a fit because I won't read to him on the potty this time because I have to brush my teeth.

I clean up any pee that's not made it into the seat quite right since he was throwing a fit.

I re-dress him from the pee that's instead made it onto his pants around his ankles.

I feed him.  While I'm cooking, he's whining and saying and signing "EAT! EAT!" over and over and over while yanking on my pants.

I get him his food, and by the time I get mine, he's finished his and I had 3 bites and now he's relentlessly signing ALL-DONE while he whines and I just want to eat and I try making him sit there while I eat but he's losing his mind and so...

I clean up him and the disaster around him from his eating.

I re-dress him from the spilled yogurt that is all over him.

I brush his teeth while he cries for me not to.

He has to go potty again.

I read him the book while he goes.

He starts "playing", aka TEARING UP EVERYTHING, while I hurriedly eat a few more bites.

I warn him of impending disclipline as his behavior veers.

I execute such disclipline.

I clean up breakfast while he finishes bringing out every toy he can into our 5 sq ft of play space.

 And I non-stop keep him from choking/falling/breaking things and comfort him and dry the tears when boo boos still happen.

I listen to "mommy" a million times, "help" a million and one, and "mommy help" 3 trillion times in a day.

And again I feed him, and I take him potty, and I correct him, and I dress him, and I clean him up, and I do all of this over and over and over and yes it's monotony but there's no time to be bored because my kid just tripped and is sobbing and reaching out saying "mommy" and something spilled and I realize it's past time for him to go potty and I better hurry him there while I comfort him from the fall or we're gonna have to change outfits again.

I take my son to the potty a million times and yet I have to go most of the time but can't get a stinking bathroom break.  And when I do, you better believe privacy is a luxury that's not involved.

I spend so much of the day in the kitchen cooking, feeding, and cleaning and am yet hungry and forget to eat.

And then there's the errands and groceries and appointments and to-do lists and no, no I'm not bored.

And my hair is always in a pony tale that I'm starting to feel bitter against and make-up almost never happens and when it does it's in the parking lot of wherever we had to get to as I sit and throw on some mascara in the review mirror before we run in.

But thank goodness there are those sweet moments still, they're just rarer than that first year, but he does something extra cute or extra sweet and he signs "thank-you" for something and he says a new word and he smiles HUGE and hugs me... and I desperately cling to those moments like they are air and I need them like I need water.

And I laugh along with the little giggles.

And I blink back tears.

I tickle.
And I snuggle
And I kiss.

I dance.

I drown.

I play.

I panic.

I comfort.

I cry.

I sing.

I scold.

I worry and try not to.

I wonder what day it even is.

I answer a million little questions and ponder a thousand more.

I pray desperate so-help-me prayers and whisper ones of utter thanks.

I'm a cook.

I'm a day care worker.

I'm a maid.

I'm a teacher.

I'm a principal.

I'm a nurse.

I'm a mom.

I'm "not working" and I'm working all the time and 9-5 has become 5-9 and then some, and I look back and miss the days of getting to get ready for work and the days of LEAVING work till the next shift and now there's no closing time and it's all just so relentless.

All this giving and I still don't feel like enough.

And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I wouldn't.

It's going to be the end of me but maybe that's a good thing, and it's relentless but so is my God and He won't give up and so I won't either.

And so this is this season of life and this is my mission field and I remind myself that one day I'll miss it because older women tell me so and I believe them.  And so I cling to the moments that are sweet and sometimes sob through the ones that aren't.

And I tell myself, over the lies of Satan that say contrary, that it's not something I'm doing wrong.

And it's okay.

And it's going to be okay.

And I know this isn't really a "big" deal and I'm so glad God cares about all the deals, not just the big ones.

And by the way, let me fill you in on the scene now....

Silas maybe slept, at least he was quiet, for about 15 minutes, and then as our neighbors got louder and louder he woke up screaming and sobbing and I had tried to get him back to sleep, and then I gave up...

So now, he's sitting next to me watching The Cat in the Hat on PBS and he has crackers and juice and milk...

and the toys are still everywhere and now there are crumbs everywhere too...

and these are all the things I said I would never do but mommy needs to breath...

and I've heard mommy and help and help mommy over and over again since he got up and it's Round 2 and I'm not ready, but He's ready.

And one day I'll miss this and it's okay and it's going to be okay.

It's going to be okay.