Monday, January 23, 2012

Crazy Love

The other day I made the mistake of telling Doug that I was sick of Mackenzie. I knew better than to share my true, unvarnished feelings: I was ready to toss her out the window.
Mothers are not supposed to talk this way. Even when they don't really mean it. We are expected to embrace the ever chaotic world of maternal bliss and cherish each waking moment with our children.
Yeah, good luck with that.

As much as I try to be a beacon of positive energy day in and day out, thanking my lucky stars that I'm able to do exactly what I wanted -- to stay home and raise my children on my own -- there are times when I would just rather say to hell with the laundry and the cooking and cleaning and child rearing. I'm headed to a hotel by myself. Don't come looking for me.
But really... Would that make me happy?
Wouldn't I miss listening to Mackenzie scream at me for packing every snack under the sun but -- gasp! -- forgetting the raisins?
Or the tantrum she throws when I won't let her hold a juice box and squeeze the contents all over herself.
Or the hysterics that ensue because -- God forbid! -- I won't let her play on the stairs.
Wouldn't I miss having to spend hours explaining to Mackenzie why our painters, Carlos and Johnny, can't play with her dolls or read her a book?
Or why she can't give the mailman kisses.
Wouldn't I miss preparing 3 different dinners that ended up on the floor in front of the high chair?
Or wrestling Mackenzie each time she needed a diaper change.
Or chasing her naked body after every bath, trying -- often in vain -- to keep her from peeing on something?
Wouldn't I miss running to the toilet each time she shouted, "Pee pee potty!" only to have her shake her head "no" as soon as we got there?
Wouldn't I miss having to answer the question, "Who's this?" every five seconds?
Or the excruciating task of brushing Mackenzie's teeth at night.
Or the painstakingly long time it takes to walk down a flight of stairs holding her hand.
Wouldn't I miss having to listen to a personalized Elmo CD each time I got into my car?
Or trying not to lose my mind when Mackenzie defiantly stands up in the shopping cart in the middle of Target.
Or spending 40 minutes "changing" the diaper Mackenzie puts on her stuffed bunny.
Wouldn't I miss the torture that comes with trying to put her down for a nap?
Or the double torture that comes with washing her hair.
Or the war that ensues when she has to wear socks and shoes.
Wouldn't I miss the unexplainable crying, the high-pitched I-didn't-get-what-I-wanted scream, the incessant Mommy, Mommy, Mommy reverb that seems to follow me wherever I go?
The answer is yes.
And I would sit in that nice, quiet hotel room wondering whether my daughter missed me.
Because I would miss her.
All of her.

1 comment:

  1. I love it. I can relate to you completely and I think underneath everyone can. It's hard!! It's ongoing, it's relentless and it's unapologetic. There isn't a book out there that can really prepare anyone (i think) for what being a mom will do to a mom. I'm pregnant w/ my 3rd and seeing my other two is what reminds me of why those times you want to pull out your hair, scream and go hide someplace is worth every single second.