As the clock approaches noon, I find myself stationed at the kitchen counter, seemingly trapped in this spot for hours, slicing fruit for lunch. Suddenly, I hear the rumble of the FedEx truck pulling up. In a moment of forgetfulness, I realize the dogs are outside, barking wildly at the delivery man. In my pajama pants and unkempt hair, I dash outside to calm the dogs and retrieve the package, while my children, dressed in an absurd mix of costumes, bustle past me to greet the FedEx driver.
I’m attempting to manage two barking dogs and three rambunctious kids, trying to contain the chaos of my home from spilling into the neighborhood. The dogs are woofing, the kids are jostling each other, and the FedEx guy seems intent on offering them a cookie they’re not interested in. Seriously, buddy, it might be best if you just make a quick escape from this scene.
Once I finally usher everyone back inside, I realize that I’ve given the neighbors and the FedEx driver an eyeful of my braless appearance. Fantastic. The nursing tank top I’m wearing, which hasn’t seen actual nursing in nearly two years, offers about as much support as a flimsy napkin. My children, looking like a patchwork of mismatched clothing, are clamoring to know what’s in the package.
“What’s the FedEx guy’s name?” one child asks while her twin sister tugs at my shirt, inquiring, “Does he have a dog?” Meanwhile, the 2-year-old is whining, “I’m SO HUNGRY!” Their small hands and loud voices are overwhelming. I’m at my wit’s end and don’t want to raise my voice, but if they don’t stop clinging to me, I won’t be able to prepare lunch at all.
“Please stop touching me. And stop bothering your sister. I need to make lunch.”
I really don’t want to shout.
“Don’t touch that knife on the counter. It’s A KNIFE. Seriously, do I really need to explain this? Just step out of the kitchen so I can finish lunch.”
I don’t want to raise my voice.
“Could you please tidy up the toys while I work on lunch? There’s a mess everywhere. It’ll be ready soon.”
I will not yell. I will not yell.
“Did you just hit your sister again? Stop messing with the trash! GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN RIGHT NOW AND DO WHAT I’VE ASKED OR NO ONE IS GETTING ANY LUNCH! EVER!”
The kids finally vacate the kitchen, but I raised my voice. Great. Now I feel terrible. I’m doing everything wrong.
I sink to the kitchen floor, overwhelmed and in tears.
I cry because the demands of motherhood are unyielding.
I cry because I’m exhausted and in dire need of a shower.
I cry because it’s taken me half an hour to chop these plums.
And I cry because my love for these children runs deep; they are beautiful, inquisitive, humorous, and infuriating all at once. They deserve my patience, and yet today, I feel buried under an avalanche of their needs and ended up yelling at them instead.
Clacking sounds approach as the dress-up shoes come my way.
“Mommy?”
Uh-oh. They’ve found me. I quickly wipe my face.
“Mommy, why are you sitting on the floor?”
“Oh, I’m just taking a break. Lunch is almost ready.”
But I’m not taking a break.
I’m breaking.
Days like this, moments like this, when motherhood feels like it might shatter me, are incredibly challenging. It seems like everything I do is for others, and I feel utterly depleted. I long for an escape.
However, I take a deep breath and remind myself that not every day is this tough. Not every moment is this overwhelming. I recall the warmth of this morning when my youngest woke up with a radiant smile. I may have been tired, but I held her close, inhaling her sweet scent. And just two days ago, the house was tidy, and that felt refreshing.
I may be breaking, but I am not broken. I’m uncertain about how to navigate this demanding phase of motherhood or how I’ll get through today. For now, I’ll focus on these plums.
I rise and complete the fruit chopping. Lunch is nearly ready.
This article was originally published on July 31, 2015.
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Summary
Motherhood can be overwhelming, filled with chaotic moments that can lead to frustration and tears. It’s important to remember that not every day is filled with such challenges, and moments of joy can exist alongside the struggles. Taking a moment to breathe and recall the lovely experiences can help remind mothers that while they may feel broken at times, they are not beyond repair.