#mummyhate

Let me start with Thank God, Thank someone, anyone, some higher being, for my husband! My daughter, aka The Banshee, is a delight to get to sleep. For the last few nights it has taken up to 2 hours to put her in her cot. 2 HOURS!!!!! During said time, the world as we know it and all of time stands still. The dog staves, my pelvic floor muscles get a workout holding on to that wee I know I should have done before we started this, the sun goes down, the moon exposes, and everything silently waits... waits with held breath to hear whether or not she stirs.... again. Tonight, as a mum, as her mum, I hate myself. I hate myself for sitting in the other room. Sitting hiding from her. Hiding from the wonderful, challenging job my husband is doing. Hiding from the screeching and screaming. Hiding from the snot and tears. Hiding and admitting/accepting defeat! Tonight I just couldn't do it. Tonight I just couldn't rock and bounce and sush and console and pat for any longer. Tonight I hate my mum-self. And I bet secretly she hates me a little bit too. That's what cuts the deepest. Some times as a mum, we need that time. And it is perfectly alright when this gets the better of us. I keep telling myself that its alright, and that my husband doesn't mind doing it. Keep reiterating to myself that Mums need time out. That its ok! It still doesn't change the fact that I am self loathing right now. Feeling Mummy Failure. I love her to bits, but everyone has a breaking point.