Mom Ashamed

I am just going to admit that yes, I write a lot about my struggles as a mother, which might suggest that yes, this is pretty much a Mommy blog...which is consistent with most things about my life, totally the opposite of what I want.

I had a meltdown today in response to my daughter's meltdown. I threw her pacifier out of the moving car when it failed to keep her from screaming at me about whatever it was she wanted. I yelled. I cursed. I cried. I detoured to a nearby playground to get her to walk out her frustration (and to do the same for myself) and she refused. So I walked off and paced the tennis courts. When I decided that my "walk it off" idea wouldn't work, I drove us home.

I am so tired. She's only two. I am not going to make it if things continue the way they have.

I felt this way a few years ago when I reached a similar frustrated boiling point with my Mom. I had tried everything I could think of to interact and engage her, and everything was met with her treating me like she hated me. The worst period of her treating me like shit were during my pregnancy. She was so mean-spirited, and it seemed like no noticed or cared. Until the day I stormed out of the house after a particularly nasty exchange when I asked her to allow me to do something and she refused. My brother must have overheard, and finally came upstairs, but as far as I'm concerned, his concern was for my Mom and not much for me.

That's pretty much how I feel all the time during this Toddlersaurus phase (and honestly, since I was six months pregnant). No one gives much of a shit about me.

I do all of the heavy lifting, but if she has an unusual bruise on her leg, the entire world has to come to a stop to determine if we need to spend the night in the ER. When I was swollen and retaining fluid during her first month (steadily pumping myself with vitamins and bleeding and everything else to breastfeed and just adjust to everything), I was sent to the doctor (not taken, but sent on my own). Her discomfort is met with concern. Mine is met with indifference.

I fucking hate everybody right now. EVERYBODY.

I hate my Mother for being sick. I hate my Dad for being helpless. I hate my brothers for being men. I hate my sister in law for being so distant. I hate my other in-laws for living in New York. I hate my friends for never offering to do anything for me or my daughter. I hate how motherhood has isolated me. I hate my husband, period.

And I hate myself for not being the person I had hoped to be. I hate that the only way I can express myself is through writing that no one ever reads. I hate that I won't publish this (on BBW where I started writing this) because I am chicken shit and am more nervous of people judging me. I hate that the anxiety of not wanting to be judged has made it nearly impossible for me to ask for help.

Sh** Storm

I lost it a couple of hours ago with the Hub and the Toddlersaurus. I was in the living room (cleaning up, as usual), when I found the pages of one of her books covered in crayon scribble.

Earlier this afternoon, I had to practically bathe this child in a restaurant bathroom sink because she had an accident and sat all in it, without even gesturing that things were squishy and runny in her diaper. Hours earlier than that, she tore down the lower bar in her closet because I wanted to change her diaper and get her dressed before we needed to leave for my dentist appointment.

I also wasted a good part of the morning/evening in search of a shoe bag. In the course of that search, I found the doll that typically travels in my ginormous Mom bag that had been missing for the past week. I'm sure that if I keep digging, I will find other things I've misplaced.

The Facebook crowd advises me to place the kid in day care to give her regular interaction with other children. And that is definitely something that I believe is necessary, but as long as I am not working and not actively looking for a job, I can't justify the expense. We need new bedroom furniture and updated plumbing. I prefer that she returns to the Montessori program that she attended this summer, but it is pricey. Yet, I might be willing to sell coffee at Starbucks to pay them because I thought it was just that great for her (small class, very diverse, close to home).

While she's gone during the day, I could attempt to take back control of this house...

I'm mad at the Hub for being so damn inattentive. To everything. Except her wants. Today, after I used half a pack of wipes to clean her up, he gave her candy. After I confronted him about the scribbling in the book, he read her two bedtime stories. TWO.

I'm mad that I don't have a physical Mom Squad. I have a community online, which is great, but it would be nice to physically talk to another parent with a toddler in my orbit. Otherwise, I am flying blind. (Actually, I am flying blind and have flown into all kinds of isht along the way.)

I'm mad at my family for not offering to help me EVER. No one ever calls me out of the blue to say "Hey, can I take the Toddlersaurus to wherever?" Not a one. And I don't expect that to change, so that frustrates me.

I'm mad that I am always doing unto others, but yeah *crickets*

I'm mad because when I think that others tried to do unto me, they might have been told that Mr. Inattentive had everything under control. And they believed him.

I'm mad because I read that Harvey Weinstein story in the New Yorker and wow. Phuck him! I'm also still mad that it was a year ago that we were still digesting the shock of this Clown's election to the White House. I'm mad that Roy Moore could win this Senate seat in Alabama, and despite all the haranguing, he will provide a solid vote to repeal Obamacare so all will be forgotten and forgiven. I'm mad because we've had 52 weeks of insanity all because we made some progress.