So I didn’t anticipate writing a third post tonight but the babies won’t sleep so I guess I’ll vent.
Why is teething a thing? Why does it last so fucking long? I feel like they’ve been getting teeth since like.. Month two. And it continues now at month eight. Does it ever end? They cry so much, it feels like I never get a minute of peace. Pea was nothing like this, she was sleepy and a little cranky. She’d run a low fever and eat a little less. Drool a little more. But she still slept and didn’t cry much at all. With the twins it’s just… So different. Moosh has poop with the acid level of an orange, Rye doesn’t sleep for shit. It’s impossible, almost. I have no patience for them, and I feel bad because it’s not their fault that they were born babies with no teeth. But I have to lock myself in my bedroom with the fan on and the monitor turned off so I don’t have to listen to them crying in their cribs.
Does that make me a bad mom? Probably. I know crying isn’t good for babies but it’s probably even worse for me. And I feel like.. when I listen to them screaming, I’m spinning out of control. I’m losing every ounce of patience that I maybe had at one point… and I want to hurt them.
“Shit, she must be crazy.”
“Did she just openly admit to wanting to hurt her kids?”
Yeah, I fucking did. This is the whole reason I started this blog in the first place. No, I don’t wanna kill my children. I would never hurt them, but days like today when I’m at the end of my rope, I absolutely have to walk away from them while they scream their precious little demon heads off. Because I am much bigger and stronger than they are, and I am genuinely afraid that I will do something I won’t ever be able to take back.
Post-partum depression is a 100% real thing. It is a mental condition, not an excuse for sad moms to be lazy. Too often women are stigmatized for not having an endless amount of Mommy-patience. I knew about it before I had Pea but I never dreamed I could get it, and even after I said “I could never imagine having PPD. How could you not love your baby?” I didn’t understand, until I had the twins.
At first, being moody was normal. I had just had two ENORMOUS babies, I was running on little to no sleep, I was working into a routine. I was exhausted. But then it started to progress into me being so aggravated all the time for no reason. I would snap at Pea, yell at the twins for crying (as if they had an option to use words instead), and I started realizing that I was very unhappy. And then it was rage. White hot lava pouring into my throat every time I heard one start to wake up, every time Peyton spilled cereal on the floor or pulled my hair on accident. Small things were setting me off and it was a horrible feeling to see my toddler cower in fear from her mother. My baby Peapod. The child who I had been so infatuated with such a short time ago, I was furiously screaming at her for dropping Kix on the floor.
I knew then what it was. What I didn’t know, was that depression came along with his BFF anxiety.
I never left the house. Not unless I absolutely had to, and even then I would chew my nails down to bloody stumps. B would ask me “Why don’t you run to the store or something, take a break from the kids?” And I never failed to make an excuse not to go, even if I desperately wanted to.
It’s not that I don’t love my children. Anyone who knows me would slap someone for even suggesting that. It’s a mental illness, I can’t control it or pretend it doesn’t exist. It does exist. It’s hard explaining it to people who aren’t around, like my husband. I try to make friends without kids understand how it feels to be outnumbered by tiny, crying monsters all day every single day, but how could they understand that? I can’t understand why I feel the way I do, how could I expect anyone else to.
Writing has been helping me immensely. Having something that is mine and only mine is a beautiful thing. And in the time it took me to type this entry, I’ve gone into the twins room twice and alas, Rye is still crying. 😔