Patience is a virtue. Unfortunately, it is not one I was blessed with to any measurable degree.
I will admit, I surprised myself after my children were born and found I did have more patience than I thought, but even that meager store seems to have evaporated. I feel like I am being tested at every turn.
The Baby, now nearly two, is full of opinions and is now learning to hit when he doesn’t like being told no and to bite when his brother tries to push him around. The Boy, now almost four, is trying to assert his Independence and, to say it politely, he is regularly disagreeing with whatever The Husband or I ask, or more commonly tell, him to do. Then there’s the fact that we have a teenager in the house (do I really need to elaborate on how that tries the patience?). I know these are all perfectly normal developmental steps but add a terminally ill widowed mother into the mix and it makes for short fuses. I can’t say I enjoy the feeling of being constantly on the edge of loosing my temper.
It’s not just me, everyone in the house is on edge, but I still feel like the brunt of all of this lands squarely on me. I’ve tried taking time out for me. I’ve been consciously doing all those self-care things we all talk about but it still doesn’t seem to do any good. I’m no more relaxed when I’m done than I was when I started. I am looking forward to a massage and a hair cut this week but it doesn’t seem to actually relax me.
This is the hardest part of motherhood for me. This feeling of failure, even when you know the feelings are all perfectly normal and valid. I know it will get better, though probably not while my mother is still alive, but some days it’s harder to see that than others.