Yesterday was going along swimmingly until around 4pm. After that? Complete disaster.
HP was tired, screaming, and refusing to be comforted.
I just wanted to order a pizza, drink a glass of wine, and curl up with a book. But HP doesn't tolerate dairy in my diet, there was no wine in the house, and the screaming child required my constant attention.
Parenting is easily the most humbling endeavor I have undertaken in my short life. I (naively) thought it would be easier. I thought I would know how to get my child to take naps. I thought I would always be able to easily comfort him when he was upset. I thought I would intuitively know what he needs at all times. I thought being an intelligent, competent adult would be enough for me to easily handle the challenges of motherhood.
Turns out, none of the above is true.
Last night I reached a breaking point. Neil wasn't coming home until after HP's bedtime and I just couldn't cope with it anymore. The fact that HP is still adjusting to the time change (read: I see a lot of the 5-6am hour) is not helping matters. I like to be up for at least half an hour before HP so I can drink a mug of tea and read a book in peace before starting our day. Lately, I haven't had that luxury. Or if I have, it means I am in tears and exhausted by the time 8pm hits. I do not cope well with limited sleep.
Speaking of 8pm, that's when I went to bed last night. The thought of staying up a minute later was just too much to handle. Good thing, too, because HP was up at 10pm, 11pm, and 3am before getting up for the day.
Parenting, you got the best of me yesterday. But as Oprah says, "Cheers to a new [day] and another chance for us to get it right."