The Truth About a Bad Day

A faint cry and that was my signal; time to get up, yet again, for a feeding. I was three weeks into this motherhood gig and experience would later prove that 3 weeks weeks is right about my tipping point.

For 3 weeks I can hop out of bed without hesitation. For 3 weeks I can thrive on various bouts of interrupted sleep like it is no big deal. Apparently I have about 3 weeks of adrenaline to get me through.  And then, I start to crack.

But the baby cried, so I got up.

 

I could smell my next task before I even lifted my newborn from his bassinet; half asleep, I made my way to the nursery changing table. First things first; however, my newborn did not so much agree. He was hungry. He was looking for warm comfort and clearly did not wish to be undressed, jostled and cleaned up. He made his opinion known.

I tried to move quickly but his squirming and wailing was rattling me and I wasn’t altogether smooth at this diaper changing thing quite yet.  I was still new to all of this.  The faster I tried to move, the more I seemed to fumble. His tiny arms and legs were conspiring against me while his cry lit up the entire house like a siren announcing that his mom was not nailing this. And just as I was about to get that tiny newborn diaper properly positioned, he decided to relieve himself.

It was too much for my worn and weary brain to take in. Why was my head wet? Where exactly was this stream coming from? And can someone please make this all stop?!

My husband, alarmed by the mayhem, made his way to the nursery and asked if everything was okay.

Okay? Really? Completely offended I told him that his son would not stop crying and had now just peed all over me.

Not used to seeing me in such a rattled state my husband’s reply came quick, “Katie, you need to get yourself together!”

Husbands, quick tip: It is not recommended that you say these words to your 3 weeks postpartum wife who is having a minor meltdown in the middle of the night. It’s just not all that helpful. Say something else, anything else, or better yet don’t risk speaking at all because every word can and will be held against you, just like the justice system.

And so while he quickly redeemed himself by taking over the diapering and dressing, I walked myself to my bedroom and began to cry.

I wondered if my parents might let me come back home because clearly I was just not cut out for this job. And that is what got me the most. I knew it – I stink at this. All those fears and doubts that had been bubbling under the surface for months – Can I do this? Am I really fit for motherhood? Here was the very evidence I feared. I just couldn’t quite pull this off.

Minutes later my husband brought me a clean, clothed and calmed baby. I put one foot in front of the other, fed the baby, burped the baby and put us both back to bed. And the world was a little brighter the next day.

…..
Fast forward 11 and a half years, to last week.

On Thursdays I teach a class at an all day homeschool co-op my kids participate in. We wake early and pack lunches. We comb hair and run around looking for matching shoes, much like the rest of the world does on a normal basis, except it’s only once a week so it’s not quite normal for us.

We’re not polished.

Every Wednesday night I go over the routine in my head. Do I have my teaching materials packed? Are the lunchbags and water bottles set out? What time do I need to wake everyone up? I try hard to stick to the schedule so we can make the 30 minute drive and arrive with plenty of time to prep my classroom.

Last Thursday we were off to a shaky start. My son was doing a science presentation and wanted to know how he should transport the things he needed. My daughter was doing a presentation on Amelia Earhart and couldn’t remember if Amelia was ever married or not. Interruptions and distractions were coming at me quick and we were already a few minutes behind when everyone was finally buckled in the car.

And that is when I realized I needed gas.

How could I forget gas? Never mind the fact that my gas gauge doesn’t work, we have a tracking method and I get gas every Wednesday evening. How could I have forgotten? But these things happen, right? So I made my way the 7 or 8 miles to the gas station. Only to realize, I don’t have a purse.

Really. Now this is dumb.  Who forgets their purse?  I always have my purse! But somehow in packing up the backpacks and teaching supplies, the lunches and water bottles, I failed to pack my purse. So I had no cash. No debit card. No credit card. Nothing.

So on a day when we already started out a few minutes behind, I needed to drive the 8 or so miles back to my house, to get my purse. So I could drive the 8 or so miles back to the gas station, in order to drive the 30 or so minutes to the co-op, to teach a class. Can you feel my temperature rising, friends?

And on my way back home, I ran out of gas.

Oh yes, four kids and I, stranded on the side of the road.

I was fuming. Fuming, friends. I’m not much for yelling and in this case there was no one to really yell at anyway, because it was all my fault. But there we were stuck alongside the road.  And I was hot.

I eventually got ahold of a friend who was able to come to my rescue. My husband met up with me and gave me the gas card. Another friend took over my classroom prep work and I was able to walk right into class and start teaching, not even missing a beat.

But as I drove those 30 minutes to co-op I was hot. As in, if I were a cartoon character smoke would have been shooting out of my ears, kind of hot.  Anger isn’t a typical emotion for me. I tend to roll with the punches. I laugh when things go wrong. But today I was not laughing. I was biting my lip and fuming.

But the drive was a good thing for me because as I drove I began to wonder why? Why was I so mad? What specifically was making me so angry? Sure things were going wrong, sure I made some mistakes, but nothing was devastating or broken. I knew by now that everything was going to be fine.  So why the anger?

And then I recognized the feeling.

Middle of the night, just peed on by a wailing 3 week old – I stink at this.  That’s it. I’ve wondered before if I can really do this – if I could really pull off moming 4 kids, teaching at the co-op, getting gas in my car and arriving some place, any place, on time. Just under the surface, those deeply-rooted, yet often dormant fears rarely get exposed. But here was the evidence, played out in front of me. I stink at this.

 

The miles gave me more time to think and I wondered for a minute what I might tell another mom, a friend of mine, in this very situation. Honestly, I might laugh a little. Because it’s often funny when all the things go wrong. I might laugh because I know my friends are fantastic moms. I see them work diligently, tirelessly at jobs that are hard. Mothering, grandmothering, wife life, somedays it is all so very hard. These women I know are selfless and patient and often receive little thanks, but they have vision and depth and they know, they must know, that the work they are doing is good.

Somedays it blows up in their faces too. Somedays they get peed on and sometimes they forget all the things and run out of gas. That doesn’t sound like failure to me, that sounds like life. Keep walking.

And yet we are so hard on ourselves when it happens…to us.

You know, the rest of my Thursday went beautifully. I walked in, taught the class, did the things and it was rather uneventful (thankfully). But the the biggest lesson I learned was this – bad moments don’t have to equal bad days. Bad days don’t equal bad moms.

When shame looms large and life feels like the very evidence of what you feared to be true, call it out for what it is friends. It’s garbage. Don’t settle there. You wouldn’t let your friends believe that garbage so don’t you go on believing it either.  Speak the truth you know to be true, the words you would tell a friend in that very mess.

You are doing just fine. You belong here. Keep walking.

I’m walking, right along with you.