I’ve been a hot mess lately. Total emphasis on “mess”.
Yesterday, we went to Liam’s cousin’s 7th birthday party. Parties are always really stressful for me, family or otherwise, and I felt uncomfortable the entire time. I don’t think I talked to a single person, aside from my toddler and Kyle. My son didn’t get a nap, and Kyle worked overnight and didn’t get a chance to sleep, so the three of us were just all over the place. I spent the majority of my time chasing my son around, making sure he wasn’t launching himself off of the playground equipment, or breaking his cousin’s toys, etc. At one point, he fell while going up the ladder to go down the slide, and ended up with scrapes on both of his arms, his knee, his chin, and under his eye.
He also got a double timeout, when he decided that instead of watching his cousin open her presents, he would hit another little boy with a water gun. He didn’t mean to, they were hitting their water guns together, but they were supposed to be sitting quietly since they were reading cards, saying thank yous, and whatnot. I kept asking him to stop, and tried to get him to sit next to me, but he started throwing a fit, so I dragged him inside, kicking and screaming. We sat on the couch for a while, and once he had calmed down, I told him to say sorry. He then picked up my phone, and threw it across the room.
Queue timeout #2.
The party overall was fine, I guess. I don’t know if it was my hormones, my exhaustion, my stress level, or all of the above, but I just felt completely in my own head, and could not enjoy myself at all. Pretty much dead inside.
We got home that night, and I put kiddo to bed without a story, because he was once again giving me a hard time, and I figured he was pretty tired from the party, and I just was totally over the entire day. After he fell asleep, Kyle got a call to go into work, even though it was supposed to be his night off, and he had been awake for over 30 hours straight. He went to go take a nap, so he would at least have an ounce of energy for his shift.
When he went to go lay down, I moved from my computer to my couch, and just cried my fucking eyes out. I was suddenly feeling waves and waves of guilt, for so many reasons. Mainly, guilt over not being as patient with my three year old as I wish I was. Three years old has been the most trying age, WAY worse then two was, and I know I’m not handling it well. Potty training, getting ready for preschool, trying to get him to socialize with other kids in a nice way, getting him to eat literally any food that has any nutritional value… he’s stubborn, and strong-willed, and so damn sassy, and it is exhausting. So, so exhausting. I find myself constantly losing my temper, and yelling, and giving timeouts, and taking away bedtime stories, and it makes me feel fucking awful.
As I sat there bawling my eyes out, all I wanted to do was wake up my sleeping three year old, and hold him in the rocking chair, and just cry and tell him how much I love him, but of course, I felt guilty over even the thought of waking him up.
And I am going through all of this alone. I hate to say that, because his father is 100% in the picture, but it’s true. Kyle has always been the provider, and I love him for that, and I know he works his ass off, but he just doesn’t help me with Liam. He never has. He loves his son to death, and I know that, but it feels like he honestly couldn’t care less with the actual raising of our son. No potty training, no cooking or feeding, no diaper changes, no reading, no teaching moments. Nothing. So I have no one to fall back on. No one to rely on. I have no one. No one to help pick up the slack, when I am exhausted and overwhelmed, and just need a break.
Which has been ALL THE FUCKING TIME lately.
And I feel guilty that I get so angry at him for working so much, and for never being around to help me. I get angry that I am raising our son on my own, and taking care of all of the housework on my own, especially now that I actually have work I should be doing. I’ve been trying to drop more hints lately whenever he has a day off or something, that I have work to do, and I would appreciate it if he did the dishes, or took the trash out, or folded some laundry, but he either doesn’t pick up on any of it, or he’d rather just ignore me, and sit around all day playing video games. I have no help. With anything.
And I have no fucking friends to talk to about any of this shit either. No friends, no family. I have no one I can just bitch and moan to, and let out my frustrations. Not that anyone would give a shit anyway. Is that what friends even do? It’s honestly been so fucking long since I actually had a “friend“, I don’t even think I know what a friend does.
So, I’ve just been holding all of this anger, and frustration, and loneliness, and stress, and pain, and sadness inside of me, with no outlet. And then I wind up yelling at my son when he plays too rough with another kid, or when he refuses to eat his dinner, or when he splashes too much in the bathtub, and gets our bathroom soaked, because I forget that he is only three, and he is still learning, and doesn’t know any better. And the guilt is overwhelming, and I wind up feeling like the world’s worst mother, and worry that he is going to grow up resenting me, or even worse, being like me, because I can’t give him this perfect life that he deserves, because he is a sweet, amazing little boy, and I’m the worst fucking mom.
And it all came crashing down on me last night. And I broke down.
And Kyle woke up and found me, just sobbing, and couldn’t even offer a shred of comfort, because he just doesn’t know how, and that made me feel even worse. It felt like he didn’t even really care. I tried to tell him how I was feeling, and he literally just said, “Well, stop it.” as if it’s just that fucking easy to brush all of this aside and live my life as though nothing is wrong.
I took Liam to the park this morning, trying to make up for how I probably ruined his fun time at the party yesterday, and we had an okay time. There was one little boy there, who we have seen a few times before, and Liam liked playing with him, even though he’s just a baby. I couldn’t even enjoy myself, because the whole time we were there, I was thinking about why we were there, which is because I’m the fucking worst.
I fucking hate this. I hate everything right now. I hate feeling alone, and worthless, and overwhelmed, and poor, and angry. I hate it all. I just want to scream, and cry, and disappear. And now, I’m crying all over again.
This blog took a really dark turn. Sorry.