There are days when I feel distraught with negative energy. I imagine myself crouched over, slowly turning my head. My eyes become wild shooting rays of death and I want to scream. SCREAM so loud that you could hear me across the ocean.
There is nothing so wrong or bad that is causing me to feel this way. It's not one thing. Rather it is every little thing piling on top Jenga style, with people pulling out loose slivers until I come tumbling down. In pieces.
I deem myself a worthless parent. Why is it that every day I am bombarded by pictures of Angelina and Brad in route with Maddox to and from school? I don't have the luxury of being able to pick up my daughter from school. I don't get to ask her about the fun things that she did in those three hours while it is still fresh in her mind and exciting to her.
Daycare asked my husband if it's okay for them to phase out Strawberry's naps. He agreed but then he let her sleep in the early evening hours before I got home from work. I should rephrase that because "let her sleep" actually means cannot wake her because she is completely exhausted. So the evil off cycle continues where she goes to sleep later and cannot wake up in the morning. She loses her mind and I practically have to rip her pajamas off her body. I beg, plead, demand that she get dressed while I have the same fight with her toddler sister. Everyone's crying. This has got to get easier.
A weight so heavy
My stomach is tied in knots.
Me. Monster Mommy.