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We’re talking, kissing, and I let out that brief sigh that lets him know to ask what’s wrong.
Without pause to ponder, I tell the truth: “I can’t stop thinking about what an awful mother I was today.”
source: Minivan Ninja
He wants me to think only of us and right now, but a woman’s mind doesn’t work like that, does it? I always recall Men Are Like Waffles, Women Are Like Spaghetti—my thoughts twirling and spinning and twisting and running together. He’s sitting in one compartment, ready for the … well, syrup, the sweet times of marriage, and I am play-by-playing every minute of the day and getting farther and farther away.
I’m having a more and more difficult time keeping my cool with a 3-year-old on the loose. If just once she would agree to anything I offered. Not ask for things she doesn’t want. Stop fake crying 60% of the day.
I’m waiting desperately for a turnaround. I know yelling doesn’t help, but I do it. I know spanking has no effect on this will-of-steel, but sometimes I do it anyway. I know what she wants is my attention and yet one more whine of “I just need you, Mommy” is enough to topple me over into near-hysteria. I might run out of the room, lock myself in the bathroom, start singing an aria just to drown out the noise.
We have days that are so good it feels like water, a fresh stream through the hard rock my heart is. I feel relief, prayers of friends, smile big, tousle hair.
And then there are times like now, when she doesn’t hear what I say and screams the same thing at me forty-three times in a row while the fake wails continue and she clings to my arm and my ears hurt.
I know … it could be worse.
I know … I should be thankful.
I know, I know, I know.
But it’s still hard.
So dear, this is what I’m thinking that I can’t put into words in a five-second span. My thoughts don’t end, they pulse like the heart and course throughout the body. What I mean when you say, “Think about this” and I say, “I can’t.”