This morning was a rough one. Kenny got up an hour too early, Dudley ate the last Eggo right out of Kenny’s hand as I put him in the stroller, the air outside during our 6 AM walk was already hot and sticky, Dudley pulled on his leash the whole time, wanting to run, and then when we got home, Kenny was peevish and cranky.
It got worse when I got in the shower. He knows how to brush his teeth by climing up on a stool and turning on the water (“Slow water” is what he calls it, because I always remind him to let it run slowly…), and so he climbed up there while I was in the middle of washing my hair and started splashing water all over the place. I quickly got out and pulled him down, but he started screaming “Brush Kenny’s teeth!!” and crying and kicking and on and on and suddenly I was sobbing, holding onto him and crumpled in the floor.
Kenny was a little freaked out by the sight of his normally happy Mommy in a weeping, wet heap on the floor and decided to distract me by walking over to my dresser and pulling all of my clothes out of the drawers. I wasted no time getting dressed and got us downstairs. But that’s when he pulled out the big guns. First he refused to get into his highchair for breakfast. He kicked me and screeched and cried, “Big chair! Table! Kaitie and Tistin in the big chairs!” I had lost the fight in me, so I let him “sit” (more like kneel) in one of the dining room chairs, and not a minute passed before he flipped his cereal bowl over, milk and soggy cornflakes all over us and the floor. I took a deep breath and as I cleaned it up, I said, “Ok, into the highchair. I’m in charge here” and lifted him up. He kicked me again, howling and twisting. I sat him down on the dining room chair again, gave his highchair a not-so-nice shove, walked out of the room and yelled as loud as I could.
I still can’t believe I did that. I screamed so loud the air seemed to vibrate when I was done. My throat was ripped raw and instead of feeling relief, I felt worse than before. I walked back into the kitchen and Kenny was sitting unusually and perfectly still in the dining room chair. He looked up and said, “Mama?” I started crying a little again then and pulled him onto my lap. “I’m ok, honey. I’m so sorry for making so much noise and scaring you. I love you, baby.” We finished our breakfast quietly and got into the car to go to his gymnastics class.
After his class, I stopped at Office Depot, and he must have decided it was time to test me out again, because he was a holy terror. Casey called in the middle of the maddness (he was out of town last night and on his way back in) and I broke down on the phone. It’s funny, though. Kenny seemed to sense right there that Mommy had hit the end of her proverbial rope, because in the quickest snap of your fingers, he turned back into The Sweetest Boy in the World (his honorary title 85% of the time… ha ha…) He nuzzled into my neck as we got back in the car, then we sang songs and he giggled the whole way home. Lunchtime was without a hitch and he went down perfectly for a nap. This afternoon was fine; nothing noteworthy… Oh, unless you count the event that was the arrival of a small piece of furniture that I ordered from Pottery Barn…
It was “some assembly required” which should infact instead be listed as, “Under no circumstances open this box in a room where a toddler and a dog are present,” because there were about 95 pieces, all of which were swaddled in styrofoam. I’ve written before that Kenny calls styrofoam “Sakes!” because the first time he ever saw it, I had opened a giant gift box filled with styrofoam popcorn, and declared, “Oh, for goodness sakes!” Anyway, Kenny was thrilled when he saw the layers and layers of sakes floating about, and immediately set to work throwing them in the air, breaking them apart and showering Dudley with them. I promptly gave him a dustpan and sweeper, just in case he wanted to be contructive…
… but then we pulled out the vacuum to conquor the sakes together (Kenny is still in love with the art of vacuuming)…
Talk about a 180 from this morning’s tantrums and mishaps. We celebrated our victory over our “easy to assemble… aslong as a one-year-old is not helping you” new furniture and went out on a “date night” tonight for cheese pizza and giant ice cream cones, since Casey wouldn’t be home until late. We read books and cuddled before bed, and now he’s sawing z’s.
I must admit though, in the quietness of the house, I am ashamed of my behavior this morning. I know that sometimes parents loose their cool or cry in front of their kids. But it’s more what caused the escaping emotions than what I actually did. It was because of me, feeling so fragile, so frustrated, so inadequate, so miserably sad over the loss of my babies. It was me, needing to get out some of this anger that’s pent up inside because of what happened during these past two pregnancies. It was me, desperate to let go of all that’s churning up inside me. I know that I need to find someone to talk to. These feelings aren’t just going to go away with time, as so many people seem to tell me they will. As much as I want to “be strong” and move on, I know that being strong really means to admit that I need help with this.
All this to say… I’ve gotten many comments and emails from others out there who have suffered the loss of a pregnancy… how did you heal? Did you find a support group? A counselor? A friend who had been through it as well? Your advice will be welcomed.