I love being a mommy.

I.

Love.

It.

And I try, very hard, every day, to love every minute of it. I don’t know if that’s because we struggled for so long to become parents, or if it’s just me trying to live life to the fullest. But I try to love it all the time.

Some days, it is easy. Right now, for instance, N has his hand-me-down Barbie guitar going, singing “Jesus, Come to my Rescue” into his Lightning McQueen microphone, while watching himself in the darkened television screen. He is pretending to be our worship leader, complete with greetings, prayers and little inspirational messages.

We have played trains today, and with Woody and Buzz Lightyear. We have put dinner together in the crock pot, and discussed batteries.

But last night? Tough. Really tough.

Night is when it is the hardest for me to completely love parenting my son.

N has been sick since Sunday evening. He spiked a fever, refused to eat, laid on the couch and cuddled with daddy for hours. His fever broke about the time spots developed on his throat, so we’ve had three days of pain management, Popsicles, jello, and ginger ale. His sleep has been wrecked.

In a typical day, Keith does 100% of the hands on parenting from wake up (between 6:30 & 7:30) to when he goes to sleep between 9 & 10am. The rest of the hands on parenting in that 24 hour period falls to me, because Keith is either asleep or at work.

By 2 am, when N has woken up five times since finally giving in to sleep around 10:30pm, I. Am. Done.

Last night I yelled. I am ashamed of this, to be honest. But maybe someone else is out there feeling alone in this. But when N cried out at 2 am for the sixth time in three hours, I yelled at him to be quiet and go back to sleep.

Which made him cry harder.

Which made me even angrier.

I took the dog out, took some deep breaths, got N some milk, and gently kissed his tear stained face after doing “snug as a bug in a rug” with his blanket.

But I resented it.

Parenting, alone, in the middle of the night, on a stretch of lack of sleep, is when it is hardest for me.

I know, ultimately, I am super blessed, because my husband does come home every morning, unlike single moms or moms with deployed husbands.

But when I am exhausted from multiple wakeups eight days in a row…

That’s when it’s hardest for me.

When is it hardest for you?

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPad