Like Sands Through The Hourglass.

I hate getting mad at my kid The First Thing In The Morning or The Last Thing At Night.  It's not like I love getting angry at any other time during the day, but it seems especially heinous to get angry and/or deal with a red-faced, screaming three year old before my tea is even done steeping.  And, well, when my girl is going to bed...who wants to be mad then?  I don't want to be impatient, counting the seconds until I leave the room to go and finish what's waiting for me in the kitchen.  I want to send her to sleep with warmth. With love. And some measure of comfort.

***

Sometimes, the baby gets overtired and wired and has a hard time settling down to sleep.  And by hard time, I mean it takes more than the usual 2-3 minutes (literally, I KNOW) of bouncing on the yoga ball to put him out.  On those occasions, he doesn't fuss, he just wiggles, blows raspberries on my boobs, makes constant eye contact and busts into a huge-ass grin when I look back at him.  It's hard to be irritated at that, you know.  Even though the hard nights are still rarely, RARELY, more than ten minutes of bouncing and humming, I still feel restless, a little. Itchy for him to relax. Itchy to end my day.

***

These days, with my daughter, it seems that I am a Mostly-Full Cup of Irritation and it doesn't take but a little bit extra to have me brimming, threatening to overflow and make a giant mess all over the place.  There have been tantrums.  And hostility.  And tantrums.  And acting out.  And difficulty coping.  And...tantrums.  It's not totally clear to you which one of us I'm talking about right now, is it?  That's deliberate.  In my brain, my logical, intelligent, knowledgeable brain, I understand what she's going through, being three.  My brain understands the hard work of this difficult stage.  The pushing, pushing, [fucking nightmare] pushing against the boundaries has to happen.  The trying everything despite massive evidence that should dissuade, the freshness, the goofiness, the exploring emotions and options and alternatives--all of these are necessary. These are things that my brain knows.  But somehow, for some reason, my brain seems somewhat...detached from the process that usually begins with my daughter's ridiculous (and totally doomed) request and ends with me cleaning up the Irritation-Overflow Mess with a mop of my own regret.

***

When my son is wriggly and wiggly and can't get to sleep, I hold him extra tight.  I wrap him in my arms, like a human swaddle blanket, holding his head and chest snug against my body.  I hold him and bounce and hum 'Lullaby and Goodnight.'  He struggles at first and I hold, I contain.  I surround him, support him, make him snug.  When he strains against me, I hold extra firm.  And in about 35 seconds, his eyes close. And his muscles relax.  I feel the weight of him. The heft.  I hold his entire body in my arms. I bounce him for a minute or two more, looking at his sleeping form.  I realize that these days are numbered.  One day, he will be taller than I am.  He'll have whiskers and smelly shoes.  I look at him, quiet and peaceful, snuggled up against me and I ache for the day that he won't fit there anymore.  I try slow down and soak it in. 

***

When my girl goes to bed, she dismisses her father first and asks me to sit on the floor so we can 'Talk About Our Day.' I reach through the bars of her crib and stroke her hair or her soft, soft cheeks.  She sticks her arm through and we hold hands.  Lately, we talk a lot about the time outs or the times I felt angry during the day.  The things she did that set me off.  We talk about the other stuff, too.  The good stuff.  The fun stuff.  She wants me to stay a little longer.  I have to go and clean the kitchen, I tell her, when our time is up.  And when I close the door, in a hurry to get the rest of my work done, I think about how these days are numbered too.  The days of tantrums and irrational requests meant only to provoke and test, the days of three will give way to preschool at four and then movies in the theater with popcorn at nine, and then, before I know it, to driving her friends around at seventeen.

***

When I'm all the way done and the kids are both asleep, I think about them.  I miss them.  The idea of them has a spectacularly lush quality that can sometimes be lost in the day to day life that is caring for them.  But these days, one after the other, are gone.  Past.  So, I try to remember that.  I try not to be so itchy.  I try to empty my cup and do my best to slow down.  To relax against the snug restraints of this day to day life.

Comments

[Beth from SJ]

Love this. Trying and actually succeeding in savoring my kids - 10, 9, & 7 - whether it be asking me to lay with them for an extra minute at bed or putting down the laptop to read a book or hear a funny story instead of saying "not now". This after following the tragic death of Katie Grandju's son, Henry, via her blog mamapundit.com - her story, her son's story, has hit my soul like no other - her message of hugging your child, communicating with them, is one I am following.

[Forgotten]

I know this. I know this sooo well.

You describe it so beautifully. That push and pull between where you are and where you want to be (whether its in their room and wanting to finish dishes or arguing and wanting to be hugging). It's such a hard thing sometimes, this motherhood we've joined.

[MrsChicken]

" The idea of them has a spectacularly lush quality that can sometimes be lost in the day to day life that is caring for them."

Yes. Exactly.

[amy]

This is the never-ending daily struggle of motherhood. Try not to beat yourself up too much, we all go through it. No regrets, easier said than done, but I try to keep that mantra in the forefront of my mind. I want my children to look back and remember me with fondness, not frustration.

[Kelly]

This is why I like to visit the kiddos before I go to bed. Just lean down and kiss their heads. Because they do piss me off. A lot. But I also love them. A lot. The most, ever. And when they're sleeping and still and smell like summer, I can remind myself to go easy on them.

[Lippy]

Three year olds are so, so hard. I was expecting magic on the 4th birthday, but it is a slow crawl out of the three year trench. So beautifully written.

[Manic Mommy]

Just today, I was thinking of how everything with Gremlin is a battle of wills. Right up until he comes in for an atomic hug. I think (I hope) when they look back on their childhoods, it's the hugging, not the yelling that they remember most.

xoxo

[Alyssa]

This was such a great post. I have a 3 year old boy and a 9 month old boy. I wished away the babyhood of the first, and now I totally relate to those snuggly, fading times with the second.

[The Domestic Goddess]

While I was snuggling with boy the second this morning (moments rare, indeed!) I couldn't help but think of how much I Missed rocking and humming and singing and cuddling and bouncing and patting and...I miss it so. I miss it! But then? I didn't think I'd ever miss it.

[Twinsmomma]

Wow, I so get this! I couldn't have said it any better.

[Issa]

I rarely comment anywhere these days. It's just gotten to be too much. I always read though.

I had to come and say, I get this. I get this so much. Beautiful post. Truly.

[Princess Hippopotamus]

*wwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaah tear tear tear!*
That was great.

[Kader]

That was beautiful.
And, man, I know exactly what you're sayin'. I try extra hard during the moments of irritation to soak it in. Nearly impossible to do, but I still keep trying.
Someday this little boy who falls asleep against me will barely allow me to hug him. So I recognize that it's a complete package and try to savor the difficult parts as well.

[a]

I know that itchy feeling, and I hate it. I know the 3 year old boundary pushing escapades, and sometimes they make me laugh, but sometimes they make me crazy. I know the end of the day talking is vital but I know it is also a delay tactic. Most of all, I know I will miss it when she no longer feels the need to hug and kiss me 700 times a day.

[Motherhood Uncensored]

It's a daily battle between running full speed to get to the end, and then when I'm there, trying to slow it down so it lasts. Because I know it won't.