I want to talk about mini mommy meltdowns. I'm pretty sure they are a universal occurrence. In fact, they could probably be called mini meltdowns and apply to the entire population, but in my experience there is something about the pressure of raising children, who are so desperately dependent on you, that pushes emotions slowly but surely toward the breaking point and then the moment comes where the tears flow and everything feels like a little too much.
If I'm the only one... then don't tell me. Let me live in the happy assumption that I'm not alone in this cyclical overwhelm.
They are mini meltdowns. They pass quickly. In fact, by the time the next morning rolls around it is easy to forget they even happened. Sometimes it's even shorter than that. Today after an exhausting "day of rest," I dragged my tired boys home from the battlefield of 3 hour church, plopped Isaac in his crib, and knelt down next to the couch.
I'd spent most of sacrament meeting in the foyer, and the next two hours were spent walking laps around the building holding a squirmy, over tired 17 month old who doesn't sleep anywhere but his bed. I had a freshly broken necklace, a fat lip, and an ichy swollen foot from the bee sting I acquired on Saturday. I was annoyed that I'd somehow managed to be at the church building for 3 hours, but only hear 20 minutes of spiritual uplift. I resented my children for being children and resented myself for resenting my children, when they are in fact my real calling. I sank to my knees and started to pray. James came over and gently pulled back my hair and whispered in my ear,
"mommy, I'm poopy"
This is normally where the laughter takes over, but the tears won today and I moved to my bedroom and locked the door and cried to my Father in Heaven.
5 minutes later I'm fine.
I'm ready to go back at it.
I'll take care of that diaper and I might even whip up a little dinner so the meat in the fridge doesn't go bad. I'll color pictures, swat that fly that's buzzing around the kitchen, and read books with James, and pick up the pile of unraveled floss that Isaac pulled out, fistful by fistful, while I got dressed this morning. I might even manage to get a little scripture study in sometime and everything will go on as though there was never a moment when I threw my self on the bed and sobbed.
That's why it's a mini meltdown. It's just part of normal. It's not depression or failure, it's not the kind of thing I need to be helped with or relieved from, in fact, I can't help but think that every time I have one a little bit of dross is squeezed out of me. I little more room is made for renewed and enlarged capacity. I'm reset in a way.
After a good cry, those little eyes and faces are more in focus and any moment with arms around my neck is time well spent. In fact, James just built something and I'll bet it's pretty spectacular.
I think I'll go take a look.
He will think I'm looking at his tower but I'll actually be watching the way his eyes light up when he knows I'm proud of him.