These past couple of weeks have been hard. Motherhood is so hard sometimes. I’m running on little sleep, and my patience bank is in the red. All of the kids have been trying me in their own ways. Work has been stressful with ever-changing COVID procedures too. I’m single parenting most of the time because Javier isn’t home when I am, so it feels as though I’m riding this struggle bus alone.
The boys are always asking to go play with the neighbor boys. Sometimes I just want them to stay at home with me and have a quiet day. I am constantly having to stop what I’m doing to check up on them and make sure they’re safe. Then the neighbors come over sometimes too. The boys- especially Ivan – invite their friends inside without consulting me first, and proceed to destroy the house in a Nerf battle and drag out all of the toys that I just finished putting away – because nobody does that but me. It gets exhausting. I feel socially drained when they come over and that doesn’t help my mood either. My boys always have a good quarrel with me over picking up the mess they’ve made after their friends have all gone home. They don’t mind living in squallor, I suppose.
Amalia is barely three weeks into her third year and she is probably the worst three-year-old I’ve raised to date. She is relentless with her tantrums. They’re awful. There are literally no words to describe how bad her tantrums are, and I’ve raised two boys through this phase before her. I’ve never seen anything like it, I swear. Literally every single thing that I do or say causes a meltdown of stupendous proportions. I cut her pizza but she wanted it in a slice=meltdown. I gave her a lid on her sippy cup=meltdown. We have to leave the car shopping cart at the store=meltdown. I told her she can’t have candy before bed=meltdown. We have to wait our turn=meltdown. We need to put on our seat belt to leave=meltdown. We have arrived at home and need to get out of the car seat=meltdown. I asked her to throw away her wrapper=meltdown. And when I say “meltdown” it isn’t the cute, lay-on-the-floor-and-cry kind. Amalia’s tantrums are blood-curdling screams, hitting, swinging, crocodile tears, boogers, retching, vomiting, blotchy-faced cataclysmic events that can last more than an hour. There is no escaping her wrath either. She follows me everywhere, piercing my ears with her cries. I can’t even hide in my bedroom or the bathroom without her laying on the floor by the door and screaming at me from the crack at the bottom. And she does this multiple times a day. I’m at my wits end most of the time. I so look forward to her bed time every night because I just want some peace and quiet so that I can process my day without her screams. I hate feeling that way too, because when she’s sweet, she is so so sweet.
Noa is so busy all the time. She loves to play in the toilet, and open cabinets and drawers to dump their contents. She loves to eat the cat food too, so I have to put that up several times a day. I’ve even shut the cat in my room so that he can eat without her getting into it. She is walking so well now that its hard to keep up with where she’s at. She gets into every little thing and everything goes into her mouth. I’m so afraid she will get choked one of these days because the boys leave their things all over the place for her to find.
I feel as though we are in a season where I’m the one to constantly put out the fires that endlessly keep popping up. The boys have toys strewn everywhere so I try to clean that up, and then Amalia bawls because her juice is empty – instead of just asking me nicely, meanwhile Noa is dumping the towel drawer in the kitchen or dunking important things in the toilet bowl.
c’est la vie