Another Day, Another Spill

Some days it gets too much. Not the crying, or the whining, or the bickering, or the constant questions. It’s not the runny noses, or the cries for snacks, or the screams for attention.

It’s the the repetition of tasks drives me crazy. Absolute bonkers. I’m sure it is the main cause of my Zoloft prescription now that most of my Postpartum depression has dissipated. It becomes an endless list of monotone tasks that I have to complete. It’s like running a marathon with no finish line in sight.

And I know that I should find a way to enjoy it – because deep down inside, I’m sure I believe that the key to happiness is discovering joy in every corner of our days… but with the constant potty trips, diaper changes, cleaning up dishes, cutting fruits, folding laundry, playing chauffeur… it’s exhausting and in all honesty it takes away from what I want to do to the most – enjoying my children.

I know it comes with the territory – I know it’s a price I pay as a Stay-at-homer and to be able to be a part of every beautiful moment of my littles’ childhood. And there’s no way in the world I would ever want anyone else to take my role, my tasks away from me. I’m actually pretty sure I would cut a bitch if someone tried to step on my shoes.

And here within lies another layer of the motherhood paradox – a constant struggle between frustration and pride. “No one helps me” and “I’ll just do it – you’re doing it wrong” are staple statements during the peak of my rage cleaning that confuse my husband. Poor guy but honestly – you really need to start learning how to read minds.

There’s something instinctual that happens when you have kids and run a household. I never was this way – I used to thrive in the mountain range of laundry with empty bottles of wine scattered across my apartment like a modern art exhibit. Now, for some reason there’s a sense of failure associated with mess and disorder. I’m at my most peaceful in those brief moments that everything has found its way home and all the countertops are clean enough to be licked.

Sometimes I mourn for the woman I lost until I crack through my bubble of self pity and force myself to realize all that I’ve gained. I can most definitely say that I would choose without hesitation to die for my little humans and with that comes another day, another spill to clean up.

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