It’s nearly noon, and I find myself at the kitchen counter, feeling like I’ve been here since dawn, slicing fruit for lunch. Suddenly, I hear the rumble of the FedEx truck outside. In my moment of distraction, I completely forgot that the dogs are out in the yard, barking their heads off at the delivery man. In my pajama pants and unkempt hair, I dart outside to hush the dogs and grab the package, while the kids—dressed in an eclectic mix of costumes—squeeze around me to greet the FedEx guy.
I’m juggling two barking dogs and three rambunctious kids, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of order in my chaotic household. The dogs are yapping, the kids are shoving, and the delivery man seems intent on offering treats to the dogs, who clearly have no interest. “Thanks, but maybe you should make a quick exit,” I think to myself.
Once I manage to usher everyone back inside, I’m suddenly painfully aware that the neighbors and the FedEx guy just caught a glimpse of me, braless and frazzled. Fantastic. The nursing tank I threw on this morning hasn’t seen any action in almost two years and feels about as supportive as a piece of string. My children look like a group of wildlings, despite my best efforts to get them cleaned up and dressed earlier. They swarm around me, clamoring to see what’s in the package.
“Mom, what’s the FedEx guy’s name?” one child chimes in, while her twin sister tugs at my shirt, asking, “Does he have a dog?” Meanwhile, my two-year-old whines, “I’m SO HUNGRY!” all at once. Little hands and loud voices bombard me, and I can’t even think straight. I don’t want to shout, but if they don’t get off me, I’ll never get lunch made.
“Stop touching me! Stop bothering your sister! I need to make lunch!”
I really don’t want to raise my voice.
“Don’t even think about taking that knife off the counter because it’s A KNIFE! Seriously, do I really have to say that? Please, can you just step out of the kitchen so I can get lunch ready?”
But I’m not yelling.
“Hey, you could help clean up some toys while I finish. There’s a mountain of toys everywhere. Lunch is almost done.”
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 ASKED OR YOU WON’T GET ANY LUNCH! EVER!”
Finally, they leave, but I did yell. Ugh. I feel like I’m failing at this whole thing.
I sink to the kitchen floor, overwhelmed and in tears.
I cry because motherhood is an unending task.
I cry because I’m exhausted and really need a shower.
I cry because it’s taking me far too long to cut these plums.
And I cry because I adore my kids. They’re curious, funny, and incredibly frustrating all at once. They deserve my patience, and I want to give it to them, but today feels like a mountain I can’t climb.
Suddenly, I hear the clatter of dress-up shoes approaching.
“Mommy?”
Great, they found me. I hastily wipe my face.
“Why are you sitting on the floor, Mommy?”
“Oh, I’m just taking a break. Lunch is almost ready.”
But I’m not taking a break. I’m breaking.
Days like this, when motherhood feels as if it’s about to shatter me, are incredibly tough. I feel like everything I do is for everyone else, and I’m left completely drained. All I want is to disappear for a bit. But then I take a moment to breathe and remind myself that not every day is this difficult. Not every moment is this hard. I recall how joyful the morning was when my two-year-old woke up with smiles. I was tired, but I snuggled her soft little body and breathed in her sweetness. Just two days ago, the house was tidy, and it felt great.
While I may be breaking, I am not broken. Honestly, I’m unsure how I’ll navigate this overwhelming phase of motherhood, let alone make it through today. I guess I’ll just start with these infuriating plums.
I stand up and finally finish cutting the fruit. Lunch is almost ready.
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Summary
This article explores the overwhelming reality of motherhood, detailing a chaotic moment in the kitchen filled with distractions, frustrations, and love. The author reflects on the challenges of parenting while reminding herself that tough days don’t define her journey.
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