Yesterday was one of those days. My son wouldn’t nap in the morning, which made him increasingly grumpy, which made him unable to nap in the afternoon, which made me even grumpier than him. By the time my husband got home, my nerves were shot. I’d decided I was terrible at this motherhood thing, and probably, I was about to finally start my period because I could hardly keep myself from crying from exhaustion.
As luck would have it, I had an Air Force spouse event last night, so my husband was on baby duty for the evening. The second I left the house alone, I was overwhelmed with joy. I waltzed around that squadron feeling independent and energetic and thrilled to be alive. I could physically feel my brain relaxing, relieved of the burden of always being in charge.
And then I came home.
I wasn’t sure what I’d find since this is only the second time anyone but me has put him to bed, but when I arrived he was already snuggled up with his stuffed Eeyore and snoozing away. I couldn’t believe it. I missed him so much that it took everything I had not to wake him up to say goodnight. Then when I woke up in the middle of the night, I could hardly wait for him to get up in the morning. I jumped out of bed at his first cry, eager to wrap him in my arms and give him a good morning kiss.
Now he’s back in his crib for the morning nap that seemed so established before this week and I am reflecting on what I very quickly discovered about being a mom – it’s harder than I ever thought it would be, but it’s also so much better than I thought it would be.
As I watch the monitor, I see that he is fussing and squirming and I know that in all likelihood we will have to give up soon. The cycle continues.