Of all the ups and downs I have experienced, of all my failures, perceived or otherwise, the one place I have always, consistently felt successful was as a mother. I have felt confidently that I have been a good, loving, doting, patient and involved mother and in this place I have little doubt.
And then came Friday.
I can safely say that Friday was arguably my worst day as a mother. My temper was short and quick to flare. My censor was curiously absent and the swear jar would be full to overflowing if it existed (and maybe it should - she's taken to exclaiming 'Jezzus Murphy!' when frustrated). We had gone for a walk to grab some things, including a wrap for my leg so that I could get some reprieve from these hideous compression stockings which have added insult to the injury of this pregnancy. I grew so tired I had to sit on the floor of the store before I could muster enough energy to face the 15 minute walk home. As I plodded along pushing the stroller up what felt like an Atlasian hill she decided to stand up and, of course, fell right off the stroller [for contrast, see previous incident when she was about 1]. Then as we were crossing at the very busy corner near home she tripped on the boulevard and instead of rushing to scoop her up as I would have normally, both times I lashed out "Jesus Christ Nahanni!". Had I seen a mother doing that with her child, I'm sure I would have easily judged her as a bad mother; and I felt it about myself but felt powerless to find a more patient reaction.
Home, exhausted from what would normally be a simple trip to the store, I was trying to wrap my leg and as I unwrapped the bandage she grabbed the little clips which hold it shut and when I tried to put them on she'd 'lost' one. You'd think it had fallen down a well or something by how I reacted - swearing, cursing. Even in the moment I knew it was stupid, I knew that it had to be there, somewhere on the couch, but somehow it incensed me. I swear, I almost cried.
And so it went for the better part of the day, no matter how I tried to play or craft or cook, I couldn't seem to get hold of my equilibrium, couldn't find my centre as a mom. I have always made it a policy to apologize to her when I was more harsh than I needed to be (when she spilled the seeds I was planting, when she broke some chachki I didn't even care about) and even apologizing to her seemed hollow in light of getting so worked up over nothing, for not being the gentle and loving mother she knows and deserves.
I crept into her room, about 20 minutes after putting her to bed and apologized to her again, holding her to me, inhaling her sweet scent, trying to claw my way back to being the mother I want to be. She turned her sweet face to me and shrugged - it meant more to me than to her. But still, I have felt a great sense of failure in my behaviour with her lately. Yes, I know I am pregnant, and it has been a rough one. I haven't been sleeping again since she's been waking in the night and crawling in with us. I'm tired beyond reason - I can scarcely manage to keep the kitchen from falling apart let alone take her to various stimulating events and kids groups. Even a daily nap does little to alleviate the exhaustion which has enveloped me like a cloud. I feel helpless in the face of it, and it is only made worse by that persistent feeling from my previous life which niggles at me that I should be doing more - I should be writing, should be submitting books, should be working out, should be working more, should look better, be better, be more successful... It's like being a gerbil on the worst wheel possible - spinning, spinning, watching my life pass me by. More importantly though, watching my success as mother, a success which has generally served to assuage the festering wound that my career has left as it too seems to be escaping me. In what do I take pride if I am not even a good mother anymore?
[that may be the saddest thing I've ever written - it made me burst into tears]
Of course, I know that a bad weekend does not a bad mother make, but still, I ask myself if that was all I get of it. If now that she is more independent, is pushing boundaries and testing herself (and me) I will no longer be so easily able to comfort, cajole or entertain her. Is this the beginning of the unraveling, the place where I will look back to and say - 'that's where it started'? Worse still, I now wonder how on earth I can possibly be a good mother to two children when I no longer seem to have a handle on being a good mother to one? I'm so scared of it, of the prospect of being eternally tired and testy and not being the mother I aspire to be, I find myself so often saying 'What was I thinking?' about having another baby. Then, of course, I instantly feel bad, regret thinking it...but still, it is a legitimate fear. How to juggle it all and still be present and patient and be a good wife and good at my work and innovate and move forward and continue to challenge myself to do new and better things. Where will I find the time? Or the energy?
I know there is a deep well...I guess I'll just need to do some better dowsing to find it as I seem to have lost my way.
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