My Little Battlefield

              In my ongoing battle with prenatal depression and sheer dumb exhaustion, dark thoughts towards my husband and children rise to the surface.  Anything from name-calling to wishing we'd be in a car wreck just so I'd have some justified interruption from the infuriating staleness that has become my life.  Mostly, I sit and I wonder what it would take to buy myself some time away.  A job? A vacation? A midlife crisis? (though I admit, 30 is a little young for that last one).

             I'm tired of pretending to be perfectly happy, especially today when I'm wearing my last clean frumpy clothes and have red baggies under my eyes from crying like a lunatic several times.  I'm not ashamed to day I screamed at my daughter when she kept monkeying around in her room at naptime instead of sleeping and giving me one goddamn hour of respite from the madness.  In fact, I came within an inch of slapping her clear across the face and telling her I hate her.  The thread that holds me back from behaving so horribly towards her is fraying very thin today.

             Days like this are common with stay-at-home moms, though we either don't talk about it or sugar coat it so we don't look like the monsters we feel ourselves becoming sometimes.  We do our best to hide the ugly away, because let's face it, everyone loves to see us out at the playground with our little darlings, doing sweet mommy stuff like baking cookies or blowing bubbles.  Nobody wants to see us with tear-lined faces that haven't seen makeup in weeks, roaring at our little ones and throwing toys across the room. 

I like to call this other woman "The Mommy Monster".


            What most people don't realize is that with a conventional 9-5 job, you get to go home at the end of the night and that's it.  You don't have to worry about waking up at 2-3 hour intervals to go attend to a half-sleeping toddler who wants a different blanky, a drink of water, her teddy, or just because she thought she heard a noise.  That is every single night of my life, and once Baby #2 comes along, it's going to get worse.  And so help me God, if you ask me how I'm going to handle that, I will cut your throat.  Because really, none of us know until we get there.  Show me a mom who was perfectly prepared for the second baby, and I'll show you a damn liar. 

            Yes, I did choose to have another baby because I wanted to.  That doesn't mean I can do it alone.  My husband works his rear off at a job that keeps him away from home 75% of the time, and what little time he does get here is usually spent sleeping before his next call.  So those of you who know me and are reading this may be asking, what can I do?

First, don't be a stranger.  You'd be surprised how nice it feels to get a phone call just to chat for 5 minutes and get to talk with an adult. 

Second, think about stopping by.  I go for 2-3 days without seeing people, except at Wal-Mart or the doctor's office.  And there, I'm usually preoccupied with my very mischievous 2-year-old.  Fifteen minutes of face-to-face contact can make a huge difference.

And third, if you're feeling particularly generous, you could babysit.  I don't care if it's just for an hour so I can go lie down or get a haircut (something I've been putting off for a month now). 

             But most of all, don't forget about me.  Nearly every day of my life, I feel so invisible that I might as well be made of vapor.  My sense of self-worth is absurdly low, and I crave more than anything to be seen for something other than my abilities as a wife and mother.  So many times I've been told I'm doing the best and hardest job in the world, and while that's true, the sentiment has gotten old. 

              To wrap this mess up, it really does take a village.  And in this day and age of high technology, Facebook takes the place of neighborhood and community.  But now more than ever, I need my village.  And I know there's hundreds of thousands of moms like me out there who feel forgotten, shut inside their homes with sippy cups and breast pumps and their own tears for company. 

Please, don't forget about us.  Don't leave us behind.  When you see us struggling, don't offer sugar-coated sentiments, just give us a hug and tell us we're going to be alright.  Because most of us go through each day having a hard time believing it.