99% of the time, my child is wonderful. He's polite, happy, friendly...all the things you are so proud of in your children. But, come bedtime...he turns into some sort of devil possessed nightmare that has the ability to send
me into a near desperate state.
Before he was born, I had this vision of what bedtime was going to be. I would read him a story, snuggle him up tight and it would be this beautiful, peaceful moment of bonding each night. And every night it is like that. I love story and milk time but then, once the lights are low and his stars are out, it begins.
Right now, he has been screaming non-stop for 30 minutes. He's not crying. He's not sad. He's just super pissed off! I know this because he has just run out of his bedroom (that, yes, I have contemplated locking on several occasions), seen I am typing and crept like a 1920's moonshine runner to his toy corner; the slyest grin on his face because he thinks I can't see him.
It's now been over an hour since the last story was closed. The bedtime routine has been exactly the same since he was an incredibly tiny, delicious human being. I've done everything that felt right, everything I believed in following and still, even with all the boxes ticked, bedtime is still ruining my precious few evening hours.
Not only are these the only hours I get with him while I'm working all day, but they are also the hours that I should be spending time with myself or my husband; quality time, not having a heated 'discussion' with. We get glimpses of what life could be if bedtime wasn't such a living hell. For periods at a time, he will settle beautifully and we get to enjoy him and what parenting could be. But, honestly, I don't like him very much right now.
And then he falls asleep. I forgive and forget everything as his tiny eyelashes fall on his cheeks. He asks for a cuddle and as his little arms close around my neck, my fears of being a terrible mother are pushed aside; although not completely, as the guilt at feeling so cross with him sets in. I tiptoe out of his room, in a manner only the best Ninja Warrior could appreciate and wallow in the sudden peace.
My class asked me today what makes my heart get 'scrunched up'? Without a doubt, it's this. The aftermath. It's 8.45 pm and I'm exhausted. I'm crying with frustration, anger and regret ; feeling that I could've done so much better. My husband tries to comfort me and I just lash out at him because I can't do it to myself.
He sets out my yoga mat and tells me all will be fine once I refill my tank. I start to believe him, but I can't tell him that because he already thinks he's right about everything anyway.
He reminds me I have (almost) endless patience but when I don't look after myself, I reach it's bounds.
I know I don't do our son justice because he isn't like this as often as my wiped out mind convinces me he is. I know that he's just a normal 2 year old, with normal 2 year old FOMO and that it will end one day.
One day, I'll long for the times he needed me so much and will wish I had my time swallowed up caring for him. I also know how lucky I am that I get to have these problems and that I should stop complaining, do some yoga and have a brew before I fall asleep where I stand!
So I will, and maybe tomorrow it will be better.
Or maybe it won't, but I will be.
I hope...