I don't think I ever truly understood that phrase until today.
I feel like every little "thing" that happens is like someone throwing a ping pong ball at me. Harmless really, mildly annoying. But when there are 45 ping pong balls coming at you from just as many directions, constantly, it is becomes frustrating. And when it continues for hours upon hours upon days upon days it can be soul crushing.
I remember holding Bear as an infant, dreaming of the days when we would play Candy Land together. When she would talk and we would read stories and cook together. Now I have nightmares about Candy Land and wish, that for just one day, she would talk for maybe 12 continuous hours a day instead of her current 16. I look at Tadpole and I can't even think that far ahead. All I can think is WHEN is he going to stop his incessant screaming. WHY won't he stop? WHY can't I make him feel better? WHEN will I be able to put him down so that I can have 15 minutes to myself? There are people out there desperate to have children and right now, the best part of my day is when my husband takes them all to the grocery store and leaves me alone at home. If I could get the dogs to stop barking and following me around licking my bare calves I'd be in heaven.
I love my children, I really really do. But right now I feel like a failure of a mother to them. I don't know how to soothe my infant son or how to talk to my preschooler so that she will listen and understand and behave. I feel like her inability to play nicely and share her toys is a direct reflection on my pitiful parenting skills. I feel like I yell too often and laugh too little. I feel like every other mother has the dishes and the laundry under control. That no one else has to stop and try to remember the last time the 3 year old took a bath. A good mother would say, instantly, last night of course and she'll have another tonight. A good mother would have the energy and patience to play yet another game of checkers with someone who doesn't understand the rules and invariably will decide to make up her own half way through and then YELL that I'm doing it wrong. No, wait, a good mother wouldn't be getting yelled at by her children.
I feel like the POSTER CHILD for bad moms everywhere and the guilt of failing my children is breaking me.