I Mourned

Last night, I mourned. I stepped away from my children for a few minutes and just cried.

The apparent breaking point for me was the struggle I was having getting my one-year-old’s Minion pajamas on following her bath. She was having none of it, writhing in my arms as I wrestled first one leg, then another. Each time I aimed to sit her in my lap to try to get her shirt on, she’d escape. She was ruthless. I tossed the shirt, and stormed out of the room; running my hands through my hair, I heard myself say, “Mommy’s going crazy!” I went to my room for my own time out, screamed into the blankets, and cried.

“I … just … can’t … do it all,” I heard myself say. Followed by, “I’m just not ENOUGH for everyone. It doesn’t matter how much I do, it’s still not enough.”

And I cried. I mourned, actually, because of ALL I WAS NOT able to accomplish that day.

I DID NOT spend any time with JUST MACKENZIE (and she really, really needed it).

I DID NOT just sit and play and be with the baby.

I DID NOT take anyone outside for fresh air and a play.

I DID NOT eat supper with the kids.

I DID NOT help the big girls at all with their bath (in fact, I was upset with them because they are using WAY too much soap lately, and they know better).

I DID NOT support them in the morning to be creative or get some exercise.

I DID NOT help Mackenzie brush her teeth.

I DID NOT fix up Madilyn’s hair at all.

I DID NOT sit and do anything with them (even when they invited me in).

I DID NOT …

I DID NOT …

I DID NOT …

AND I mourned.

My oldest daughter knocked on my bedroom door, asking if I was okay. I wasn’t.

“I’m just really overwhelmed right now,” I told her … something they hear far too much, I think.

“Can I come in? I want to give you a hug,” she pleads.

I go out, and she … holds … me. She tells me how much she loves me, the shirtless baby at our feet. “See, Mommy, Cami loves you too.”

And I cry just a little more.

And THIS is WHY I want to be EVERYTHING for them … because they are EVERYTHING to me …