When Mommy Is At Her End

I wonder, do they know I love them, even when I am screaming at them from the top of my lungs?  These little beings that know Mommy’s every button (except her secret ticklish spot which I will die before revealing*).

It’s so much worse when I am sick, and my defenses are down.  They seem to know, and act doubly bad.  It’s as if, “We just want to really, really want to make sure you still love us, Mommy.  Do you love us always and forever Mommy?  Even when we insist on cosleeping and then run over the top of your face at 2 a.m.?  Or yank hard on a clump of your hair at midnight?  Even when we find cherished mementos of your teen years and systematically destroy them?  Even when we take the new loaf of bread, one of three foods you are allowed to eat while sick and paid through the nose to have delivered, and spread the slices all over a less-than-clean kitchen floor?  Even when we sit next to you on the couch and steal your water bottle and then pour cold water down your pants?  Even when we take every single giant Lego in the house and put it side by side its Lego friends?”

How much do I have to love them to want to pick them up after working a long shift, exhausted, and still sick?  Big hint: it’s a lot.  Leaving my toddler to go to work when she stretches her arms out to me is excruciating, made bearable only by the knowledge that she doesn’t stay upset long.

I love you enough to send you to bed when I know one of us is dangerously tired.  I love you enough to move past all my destroyed belongings and ruined food.  I love you enough to explain the same thing fifteen times.  I love you enough to let you watch me pee, something no one else on the planet is allowed to do.

And, I love you enough to be constantly striving to be a better Mom.   I hope I am succeeding.

*Do you really think I’m sharing that on the internet?




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