Yesterday was what I would classify as a ‘Garbage Fire Day’.
You know the one where it starts out horribly, is met by a flaming bag of dog turds and capped off nicely with a dash of rage and lunacy? Yep. That’s the one.
My little dude has started waking at 4:30 a.m. lately just for fun and that’s how the day started. The minute I got up, he went back to sleep but my brain was awake for the day. I sat and stretched in front of my happy light but due to my toddler’s ability to wake at the sound of a strand of hair lightly brushing any surface between the hours of three and seven a.m., I have to stay downstairs and be quiet or else I meet the insanity of starting the day way too early with two little people in tow.
So I sat and stretched and dreamt of coffee and started to fall back asleep on my yoga mat trying to manifest a less grumpy and tired me. This was a terrible mistake.
I was abruptly awoken by a tantrum to end all tantrums from my toddler who was mad she was awake. Honestly, same girl.
The day did not get better. It got worse and I listened to crying and screaming for 99.9 per cent of the day. The only break I did get from this symphony of shitty sound was when I turned on the TV.
Shout out to the unofficial third parent, TV.
We discovered a while ago that our toddler becomes a raging maniac after the TV goes off if we don’t set hard boundaries so we exnayed TV during the week and only allow screen time on weekends for small amounts of time. This isn’t a humble brag, this is actually the only way we can do TV.
Yesterday however, I had nothing left to give. I was all out of fucks so the hero third parent came to the rescue and we watched far too much TV but at least the crying and screaming stopped.
Of course, the newly-announced COVID restrictions capped off a massive turd of a day and confirmed we won’t be seeing anyone for Christmas or New Years. While I happily applaud these measures because we’re seriously up El Shitto Creeko on the pandemic front, it suuuuuuuuuucccccks so hard.
The day ended with three or four more solid tantrums over wanting macaroni for dinner but also not wanting macaroni for dinner and a white hot rage for offering to prepare said macaroni but not at a pace that was satisfactory. My husband walked in the door to a crying wife, a hysterical toddler, no dinner and so much mess*. The bright spot was our little man who, while waking at an ungodly hour, was happy as Larry all day**.
My wonderful husband took control of this disaster zone and I took myself off for a walk with my fur-st child, saw some pretty Christmas lights, smashed a glass of wine, ate my feelings and topped it off with a strong rum and eggnog and watched my favourite reality renovation show because I’m an adult and I do what I want.
The moral of this story is some days are really fucking hard and it’s ok to be a pile. Give yourself a break. Turn on the TV. Eat the carb. Drink the wine. Cry the tears. We are all doing our best and you can’t do more than that.
*To clarify, a clean house, dinner on the table and a family with a cheery disposition is not something my husband expects upon arriving home. It is however, the goal I set for myself so I can feel sense of accomplishment and helps me to get through each day.*
**Who TF is Larry and why is he is so bloody cheerful all the time?!**
liligean 