It's been a hard week, or two weeks, or three weeks, I can't remember. Simon and I have been butting heads. I'm almost being literal. We are really having a rough go of it. He has presented a challenge, and I'll admit right here that I haven't risen to the call. I am floundering. It's like there are two children interacting, rather than an adult and a 4 year old.
In times past, when I've felt more in control of myself, when my parenting has been more measured and intentional, I have woken each morning with a fresh supply of patience and love. Lately I wake up with a low supply and by day's end I'm on empty.
When we struggle like this, I can't help but wonder how royally am I fucking up, exactly how badly am I screwing up this kid? From that ugly thought it's a slippery slope to feeling crappy about other areas in my life. Before long my head is filled with the loud noise of self-loathing. I convince myself that I'm a terribly mother, wife, friend, and housekeeper. And then I ponder my failure all day long. I only take a break to wonder what it will take to get out of this dark place. But I come up with nothing. Then I slip into it again.
I'd like to be a cartoon, drawn with a thought bubble full of all my self-doubt and fear of failure. The next frame would show me tipping my head to the side, banging on my ear, and letting all my nasty thoughts just fall to the ground. Next frame = smiling me.
But maybe I make things too hard. Maybe it's just that simple in real life, too. Hold on, let me try that.
Okay, no. Didn't work. And now my ear hurts too.
Wanted to check in, but won't be back until the fog clears and the funk passes. You can still find my superficial/happy/crafty self at the other blog, though.