the other side of things

I get it. I now understand the true meaning of frustration and being at your wits end. I now understand mommy guilt; what it is and where is comes from. I now understand how important sleep really is and how elusive it can be. I now understand how women lose themselves in their children. I now understand how little patience I really had. I get it.

Let me tell you a little about her cry. When her crying is working at full decibel level and turns into a scream, a wail, a screech from some dark place I never knew my daughter had, it has a way of reaching back into the depths of your own mind and making you consider doing things to your child you would never otherwise consider. Like leaving her in the middle of the road for a stranger to deal with. Or taking her to the basement and turning the TV up louder than her incessant, untranslatable cry. Or taking her back for a refund.

I guess this all stems from having a rough couple of days. Her nor I not sleeping, my inability to console her, her being overtired, my lack of patience, her not sleeping despite her obvious state of sleepiness, my intolerance of this, her need to be in constant motion, usually walking around the house, my refusal to do so and then resentment at giving in and doing so.

And then…

A smile in glee from the melody of the song I am singing to her, or how her toes curl up against my leg when she is sleeping, or the way she pops her tongue in and out to get the bottle out of her mouth, or how she’ll let one rip with such intensity to rival her fathers flatulence, or how she’ll snuggle up to the warmth of my neck, or the many faces she’ll make while sleeping. Despite everything I still come back for more.