Good Days, Bad Days

As I sit here trying to get my head around, well, my head, I hear my daughter snoring and rolling around in her bed. She is unsettled. She feels insecure. I know it's because that I was unsettled today. I was insecure.

Sometimes the day starts with the wheels loose, and it doesn't take much to get them to fall off. It can be as minor as serving breakfast only to be whined at because she didn't want that one. Or having them jump on my bed while I'm trying to get dressed, and despite me telling them to stop, they carry on, until one of them takes a flying leap into my chin causing me to bite my own lip.

Days like these are tough. The girls feed off my emotional strength. Or lack thereof. If I'm shaky, they will act up. They will whine a little more than usual. They will squabble and bicker with each other, and fuss when I drop them off at school. The worst part of it all is that I am so aware of it as it's happening.

Pushed to my limit with a child throwing herself all over me while I'm trying desperately to dress her so that we can leave on time, I want to yell and shout and shake her into co-operation. And at the very same time, another voice in my head says: "She's only being a silly little girl - she's entitled to not feel pressure to be on time. Besides, be grateful for her - can you even begin to imagine your life without her? And you know that if you react badly, it's just going to set the tone for the rest of the day, and you're the only one who will be to blame for that, and the only one that will have to bear with it till bedtime - don't do it to yourself, it's just not worth it!" And while I'm having this self-involved conversation with my inner-mom, a little finger is needling me in the rib cage, and a little voice to match is shrieking, "Moooomm!! Did you even hear what I just said?"

And so it goes. The voice inside says, "Just breathe." And I do just breathe. Sometimes it's only after a little rant to vent my frustrations. In the car on the way to school, I apologise for being so irritable. The girls shrug. "It's Ok, Mom," says my sunbeam, "you're our best mom, and I love you one twentity seven hundreds threety six." "Well, I love you more than that," competes her sibling. "Mom, what's more than what she said?" And a new argument starts in the backseat. I turn up the morning news to drown out the battle that ensues. "Just breathe," I hear inside my head. I see my therapist closing her eyes, her nostrils flaring wildly as she demonstrates to me a good, deep, breath.

Despite breathing, the tone of the day has been set. The girls are fidgety and weepy all day long. It tires me rapidly. I feel depleted. I want to lock myself in my room. Alone.

Eventually we have fought through dinner. I've given in to their persistent requests not to eat all their sweet melon. I pat myself on the back for chosing my battles wisely. We argue over brushing teeth, and I tell them they can't watch a movie before bedtime. They toilet under duress. I toss them into their beds and tuck the blankets around their chins.

For the first time all day, I look at them and really, really feel love. Now. When they're going to sleep. When I can really breathe without a weight on my shoulder, or hanging onto my neck, or climbing all over me. Breathe. Just breathe.

They fall asleep very quickly. But they are tossing. Kicking. Talking in their sleep. I feel bad. I feel to blame. I want to give them peace and security. I feel like I've held that back from them today.

I check on my sleeping angels. There are soft sweaty curls clinging to their cheeks and covering their eyelids. They are so beautiful. So perfect. So much better than me. I kiss them and whisper that their mommy loves them. The one replies in her sleep, "I love you, Mom." I bite my lip and back out of her room.

Tomorrow I will be better. I promise.