This morning was bad.
A week’s worth of stomach bug, Christmas aftermath, dirty house, empty refrigerator, baby proofing and boo boos culminated in a mild freak out as I rushed out the door, late again. But this time I wasn’t just late…I was late and the baby hadn’t been fed, I felt like a woozy, pukey mess, and I had succumbed to wearing my bedroom slippers to school.
(and they’re not even tied!)
It was one of those I FAIL AT LIFE moments.
And it hit me hard.
Because I interpret I FAIL AT LIFE a lot more specifically.
To me “fail at life” means fail at MOTHERHOOD and HOMEMAKING and don’t forget TEACHING, my actual “job.”
I was mean to my hubby as I shoved out the door and showed up to our babysitter in tears. For some reason, I can’t hide my true self in front of her and she looked at me understandingly and sympathetically. I know she knows… sometimes it just SUCKS.
“It” being working and mommying and being sick and somehow trying to juggle it all without embarrassingly dropping a few balls or at least shedding a few tears.
How do we–the collective group of working mommies–do it? And more importantly, WHY do we think it’s possible? Who told us it was not only do-able, but enjoyable? Where did this myth begin? Not to be discouraging to those trying to make it work, but right now I feel like shouting from the roof tops–it’s not possible, people!! We can’t do it all! I feel like there is no way to keep food in the house (much less on the table), dirt off the floors, money in the bank, AND a happy daddy, baby, and mommy.
If there is a way, someone, please fill me in because I am struggling here. I know I have a tendency to go to the extremes with things, but I know I am not alone in feeling this way. I can’t be. And if I am, that just means I fail at life even more (and please feel free to leave comments expressing not that I’m not a failure, but that I am not alone).
As I opened the fridge on my way out the door, looking for something to eat or drink besides ginger ale and applesauce I couldn’t help but think, what happened to “live in the moment and make it beautiful? How am I supposed to make this moment beautiful?”
And then I remembered AJH’S boo boo yesterday. She closed her fingers in a drawer and got a few little cuts across her hand. She cried for a few seconds and then patiently watched as we put Neosporin and band aids on her fingers.
She was mesmorized by the new friends on her hand.
And minutes later she was riding her school bus, happier than ever.
So once again, it is my nine-month old baby that teaches me the greatest lesson of my life.
We fall down.
We get boo boos.
We hurt. We cry for a second. We contemplate. And then we get back up.
We jump on the school bus and smile.
Someone once said, it is only when we fail to get back up that we truly fail.
My boo boo is already feeling better.