Love lasts for the long haul

My 4 year old is seemingly incapable in speaking in a tone other than "indignant whine". She also can't be more than 18 inches away from me for longer than a single Peppa Pig episode (that's 9 minutes). She sits, leaning on me, and saying, in a plaintive cry "Momma. Momma. I neeeed yoou!"

I can be the household calendar manager, shoe and bill finder and remember-er of if the dogs have eaten. I answer the big questions kids ask about growing up, life, and love. The requests for finding lost toys, shoes, towels, on-and-on are never ending. The requests for snacks, but not that snack, activities, but not right now, and more and more are never ending. The requests for time and presence and ME feel never ending. 

And I end up feeling taken advantage of, invisible, disposable and unappreciated. Oh, and pissed.

Because, I believe and think to myself: "My experience in this world is my responsibility. I deem how others may and may not treat me. I decide how to engage and how to not engage with the challenges and triumphs of your life." And, sometimes I don't like how I'm treated by those I love the most. So I conclude that maybe it's my fault because I allow it to happen.

Parenting is one of those long-term endeavors. In which the immediate feedback is likely to be negative, negative, negative. In which the presence of negative feedback probably means I'm doing my job well. Or at least hopefully not fully f*cking it up. And, like all parents, I sometimes get feedback or information from peers, news articles, even family and friends, that tells me I'm not doing this right.

I don't set the right boundaries, I'm not this enough, or too that, or permit too much or too little of that. And it pisses me off.

Because there are those days. Those days. When the demands are incessant. The requests never-ending. The to-do list a gargantuan, herculean feat, impossible to complete.

The demands of work, even work I love, on me leave so much less to offer to the demands of home and family, and myself. I find myself at the end of my proverbial rope, dangling on snapped words, exasperated sighs and irritated grumbles.

I find myself desperate for a moment to myself, to breathe and rest, but also dreading the cost of that time off the hamster-wheel. For stepping off the hamster-wheel, indulging in that essential self-care, feels like it just jams up the conveyor belt of life that much more.

I find myself over the constant touching, needing, asking, pushing. I find myself over the need to set the boundaries, police screen time, vegetable and sugar consumption, bed times, wake up times, the never ending reminders to wipe-flush-and-wash. I find myself at a loss for patience and kindness. I find myself finding the many ways I am falling short. Shorter and shorter and shorter of the elusive goal of being a "good mom", however that is defined these days.

And so. Those feelings of being disposable, ineffective, taken advantage of, invisible are a confused mash-up of feeling judged, overworked, guilty, and yet responsible for allowing it all to happen in the first place.

But I also know a bad day, does not a bad life. I know that a few days of crankiness doesn't erase the efforts of silliness, love, engagement, support, joy, exploration. This is family. Every moment won't meet the litmus test of how we're "supposed" to live. It won't always meet our expectations. But if we're lucky, and I am, the cuddles outlast the cranky, and love always lasts for the long haul.

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