Last week, my toddler achieved a remarkable milestone—three uninterrupted nights of sleep. Feeling rejuvenated, I picked up my 6- and 4-year-olds from school and declared, in my best motivational speaker voice, “We’re heading to the beeeeeach!” (You get a beach trip! And you get a beach trip! Yes, you too!) The following day, I took my middle child, who craved some one-on-one time, on a fascinating visit to the local sticker factory. I even managed to prepare a meal for a preschool event, support a close friend, and attend a dazzling premiere at the San Francisco Ballet. “Because,” I joyfully shared on social media, “20 months after our third baby arrived, we finally seem to have a life again.”
However, returning home, I was met with a different scene. Our baby was performing in her own show titled “I Can’t Breathe Through My Nose.” That night, I experienced sleep in brief 20-minute intervals, waking up as if I had participated in a grueling marathon.
The next morning was spent on the phone resolving property tax issues. Just as I hung up, my 4-year-old climbed onto my bed, announcing, “Read and cuddle now, Mama,” while tossing my decorative pillows into a puddle of paint on the floor. At that moment, I understood his silence during my phone call. Tears filled my eyes unexpectedly. I rushed to the bathroom to let them flow, hearing my little one’s cries of “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry!” trailing behind me.
Sleep deprivation definitely played a role in my emotional response, but so did the weight of a looming $1,000 penalty during a time when every penny counts—leading me to buy my least favorite brand of mayonnaise just to save $1.37. Guilt washed over me too; I wanted to snuggle with my little boy and soak in the joy that my full attention brings him. Yet, I also felt the pressure to accomplish tasks.
What hit me hardest was the sudden drop from feeling like a supermom—invincible and reveling in my accomplishments with my kids—to a stark reality that felt like whiplash. Full steam ahead one moment, then a sudden halt. I’ve named this phenomenon “kidlash.”
Contrasting Moments of Parenting
Over the years, I’ve tried to articulate this experience through a series of contrasting moments that epitomize the highs and lows of parenting:
- High: The baby stood up independently for the first time, prompting cheers from her older siblings.
- Low: My son, upset that I had to leave to pick up his sick sister, looked me squarely in the eyes and said, “You are trash.” He was being literal, but still.
- High: My husband took the kids to the playground, allowing me a blissful hour to read in the tub. When they returned, instead of dread, I felt excitement as my oldest joined me, providing “spa services” with her imaginative play.
- Low: At bedtime, her chatter about everything from chimpanzees to her feelings of being too short became incessant, and in my exasperation, I snapped, dimming her cheerful spirit.
- High: My son, though sick, was a cuddle machine, which warmed my heart.
- Low: I felt guilty for secretly enjoying the extra snuggles while wishing for a moment of peace.
- High: After finishing the bills, I happily listened to my son sing a whimsical song about bunnies, and we even crafted rabbit snacks together.
- Low: When he lashed out with hurtful words toward his sister, my frustration peaked, prompting me to grab his face for eye contact as he yelled, “You are the worst mommy!”
These emotional swings are relentless, but what truly hits hard is the broader sense of kidlash that stretches over the months and years. Recently, while sitting in the dark, holding my husband’s hand as classical music filled the air and talented athletes showcased their skills, I felt a glimmer of emerging from the postpartum haze. Just then, a cold virus swept through our home, plunging me back into the familiar darkness where sleep and respite appeared just out of reach.
For six years, this cycle has been my reality. Yet, through it all, I’ve managed to hold onto one small victory. After a decade and several new sets of bedding, my husband finally grasped that decorative pillows are not meant to be used for support and must remain pristine. He often teased me about it, comparing them to the untouched food at a party, but each night, he carefully placed my “ornamentals” on a clean surface before bed.
I thought I had triumphed, believing a piece of me would emerge from this chaos unscathed. But then I found myself crying. Ultimately, I lost myself in my son’s loving embrace and the magic of a captivating story.
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In summary, parenting is a journey filled with unpredictable highs and lows that can lead to emotional whiplash, a phenomenon I’ve coined “kidlash.” Despite the chaos, moments of joy, connection, and love persist, reminding us of the beauty in this challenging experience.