This morning, after having 4 hours of sleep and being up for most of the night with a toddler who is too smart for his own good, I had a meltdown on the kitchen floor.
Straight up Meryl Streep style.
Something is up with my son. I don’t know if he is sick or teething or entering the terrible 2′s early. It’s also possible that he is just plain trying to break my Mommy Spirit.
He was up from 11 p.m. – 3 a.m. and I could do nothing to get him to sleep. I rocked. I offered him milk. I sang. I swayed. I Happiest Baby on the Blocked his ass. And nothing worked. Every time I put him back in his crib I had to listen to his crying, which after 15 minutes at 1:30 broke me completely. Back into his room I went and we had a stare off where we discussed how important sleeping is. He didn’t care. So my next step was to pull a pillow and blanket from the living room and camp out on his floor. I closed his door, laid down in his crib and let him walk all around his room until he cuddled up (or rather on) to me and slowly drifted to sleep. An hour of this and he was finally asleep enough that I moved him to his crib. Then I laid back on the floor until I was absolutely certain that he was asleep. Then I used some moves from The Bourne Identity and got out of his room as fast and as quietly as possible.
I fell back asleep for the last 2 glorious hours of sleep before my alarm went off. I had dreams about Zombies. Thanks kid. Thanks a lot.
After forcing my way out of bed 45 minutes after the alarm went off I settled into my morning routine. And then my sock bun that I just mastered wouldn’t work and my shoulder hurt and lunch still needed to be packed. I was overwhelmed already and I was 30 minutes into the day.
Fast forward another 30 minutes and my munchkin is up. He starts out in a great mood and I think, “Thank God. No permanent emotional damage from last night when I told him I had had enough of his crying.”
Then, as I’m trying to get our breakfast and lunch put together, he freaks. Crying. Demanding to be held. Doesn’t want anything to do with my husband. I eventually have to stop multitasking because cutting a tomato and creating healthy lunches are not conducive with an inconsolable toddler at your feet. So I scoop him up while wearing heels and I hold him and whisper to him. Nothing works. He just cries and cries.
Hubs takes over making coffee and lunches.
I can no longer balance on my heels so I sit on the kitchen floor in my dress clothes, cradling my baby who is still crying. And then…
And then I am so overwhelmed and so tired and I’m going to be so late to work and lunch isn’t done. And I just lose it. Tears flow down my cheeks, ruining my makeup. I sniffle and all I can think is how I must be doing something wrong because Henry is so upset and I can’t make it better. I can always make it better. His little face pulls away and looks at me and then his little arms wrap themselves around my neck and he’s still crying, but now we are crying together. And then Hubs is crouching down to brush tears off my face and rub my back and toddler looks at me again and stops crying.
The three of us on the kitchen floor. Two of us in tears. At 6 a.m. Yee-haw! This is going to be a day.
Somehow we get out the door and my son stops crying and I get to work and I have breakfast and lunch and everything is all right.
Does anyone else have #mommymeltdowns occasionally?