You know what’s worse than Monday morning? Sunday night.
Monday morning is never all that bad. When I used to work early or have early class on Mondays, I’d look a bit disheveled, tired-eyed, and nod empathetically when someone said “Mondays, right?” but it was all a bit of a sham. I actually kind of like Monday mornings. Sure, I’m tired, but I’m not as burned-out as I was on Thursday.
But on Sunday, you know your me-time is almost over. You know you’re facing another week, and you’re trying to gear up for it, but can’t really do anything yet. Andreas gets pretty mopey on Sunday nights. It’s tough, because I want us to enjoy all the time we have together, but there’s just this mood hanging over our little apartment on Sunday nights, and it’s hard to shake.
Yesterday was Andreas’s first day back at work since he left in October, and boy was it a doozy. Not the actual first day of work, but that Sunday night.
Andreas was bummed, and I was nervous. Suddenly, after weeks of having help, really whenever I needed it, I’d be on my own. On my sleepy own with this little guy who, recently, has wanted my full attention 100% of the time he’s awake (and who hasn’t been a huge fan of being asleep). It just got worse and worse, and I don’t know if Theo picked up on it, or if he had a belly-ache (as his machine-gun farts pointed to), but he was not having a good evening. We tried to put him down, and he woke with a shriek after half an hour. He would cry and cry and fought any of our attempts to help him get back to sleep. And when we finally succeeded (three seperate times) he woke 15 minutes later, just as unhappy as he was before he fell asleep.
It was rough. I was tired, anxious, and feeling seriously depressed. I tried to stay present, but I was forced inside myself, and couldn’t even be there for Andreas. We both had full-on break-downs. It was basically the worst. And I only write this because if someone else happens upon this blog at some point, and sees our cute pictures, and my posts about how much I love my family, my husband, my husband’s family, my new life, etc…I also want them to see this. That there are moments were I so, so don’t love it all. Where I feel like I’m not only not the best mom I can be, but am an awful mom. I felt like I did not deserve my little Theo–like I never should’ve even thought about having babies.
I don’t think that now, of course. I don’t think it when I’m lucid and it’s daytime, and my baby isn’t screaming. I know it’s not true. But in the dark hours, I think it, and I believe it.
So today, when Theo was napping, I thought I’d write in my journal. I picked it up and realized I haven’t written in it since nine days before Theo was born. I started writing, and figured out some stuff along the way. First of all, I know that if I didn’t have Theo, I’d have hours even darker than those the other night, wishing I had Theo. And second of all, just because I’m doing my best, doesn’t mean that I can’t do even better tomorrow. I can’t do any better than my best, but I can hope that tomorrow, my best will be better than my best was today.
It’s not all peachy and baby giggles and belly noms. Not even close. But it’s good, and it is what I always wanted, and what I want now. And it’s okay to have moments when you forget that, but it’s important that you remember again the next day, and hopefully make your best better.