I feel like I’m at the end of my rope. No matter how much I tell myself how lucky I am to have him, how so many people are desperate for - and deserving - of kids but can’t have their own. How much harder things are for my good friend whose daughter is severely disabled and will need 24-hour-care her whole life. How unreasonable it is to shout at a toddler - they don’t know what they’re doing. I know all of this yet still, I just screamed horrible things at him and I didn’t even feel that emotional about it. I’m drained. I’m cried-out this week. And I’m terrified that I’m a terrible person who should never have become a mother.
He’s been an easy baby and toddler up until about 3 weeks ago. He even slept through the night from 3 months, something I am very grateful for. That stopped around November last year though, and nighttime sleep has been a patchy, tormenting ordeal ever since. Overall he’s mostly very sweet and doesn’t appear to behave badly at childcare (P/T - I still have him 2 days per week). But at home, recently… I cannot stand the ignoring. The fighting us about everything. I don’t really know what to do as I’ve kept routines consistent and we try to practice gentle parenting but after 10 times of reacting to things calmly and trying to discipline him with empathy and explanation, I just can’t keep going. I know shouting makes things worse and I don’t want him to be upset but I’m worried that I barely feel any emotion towards him when I get to that point. Just flat.
Just writing this out had made me calmer, and my reasonable, logical brain matter is whirring up again. The guilt is starting to seep in. I know that I love him with all my heart. I know I’m so, so lucky to have him. I know that pretty much everyone goes through similar things. I know I shouldn’t shout.
I feel even worse when I remember that I’m especially lucky to have him because I was diagnosed with bowel cancer early in my pregnancy. It was a very, very hard time during which I could have lost him at any moment. I had 3 abdominal surgeries in 5 months, beginning with the elective c-section to bring him out 4 weeks early. Since all of that I’ve struggled with mood and anxiety, and I’ve been on antidepressants for a year. All of which is relevant to this post, I guess. But I thought I’d be better than this by now. I don’t know why I’m managing my emotions so badly when I KNEW things would get tough at this age. I’m failing.