When the Parenting Struggles Just Keep Stacking On…
I was initially on the fence about starting to write an article that I don’t feel will have a hopeful spin. I like the optimistic formatting of: “Things are hell right now, but here’s the helpful lesson I’ve been learning. Here’s the silver lining”. The truth is, some parenting struggles leave you struggling to see any light at the end of the tunnel.
So it’s been for me and Nathan lately. If there’s been any season where we feel like we’ve been treading water, it’s this one. If there’s any season that’s left us feeling hopeless, it’s the one we’re currently in. And it’s not that there’s any one particular massive, terrible thing that’s happened. It’s just the accumulated myriad of tiny issues that keep sweeping the leg…
And I’m sorry, Chumbawumba. There just comes a certain point that when you get knocked down, you really don’t feel like getting up again.
Pause for Perspective
I think one point of writing this post is to stress the importance of validation. As a trauma survivor, especially, I tend to get in this habit of minimizing my own experiences. I’m sure other people have it worse, so how do I have any right to complain? I should just be grateful, stop whining, and have peaceful joy.
I’m sure it stems from the fallacy that “we’re all in the same boat”. Great argument against this point of view I once read (I’ll paraphrase as best as I can): We’re not all in the same boat. We’re in the same ocean. The waves just feel very different depending on what size vessel you’re sailing in.
It brings me at least a little comfort before I start the negative spiral into self-deprecating clap-backs. Oh, I guess that means that I’m just a weak vessel then?! But I’m working on it. I’m working on having more compassion for myself in the midst of my own parenting struggles, even if they don’t look as bad from the outside as someone else’s.
This week, I think, really would just be hard for anyone…
Perfect Storm of Parenting Struggles
I say “this week”, but in truth, our number one of all of our parenting struggles is SLEEP. It feels like Nova just hasn’t slept since the moment she took her first breath and chose rage. We’ve desperately tried different tactics to get her to sleep through the night.
Every now and then we get lucky and don’t have to go in there in the middle of the night to console her or cuddle her. That’s the rare exception to the rule. At the very least, every night around midnight, when Nathan and I are crawling into bed, she can sense it, wakes up, and starts crying.
Almost two years without restful sleep. And I know for her, it’s separation anxiety that’s kept it going. Diaper is fine. They always get a satisfying bedtime snack right before brushing their teeth and winding down. She’s exhausted. And the SECOND that I pick her up, no tears. Just cuddling. Just laying against me and relaxing.
We’ve tried going to bed a little earlier so that we get more cumulative (if not restful) sleep, but we are night owls. And It’s the only time that we have any time just to ourselves. So we’ve adapted and adjusted to poor sleep, but functioning the next day is such a struggle at times. Especially this week.
Teenage Trials and Sleepless Nights
Coen failed his first Driver’s License test (the fallout added to the list of parenting struggles). But when rescheduling on the website, I noticed that the DMV has a limited number of walk-in appointments, first come, first serve. It was take a chance, wake up stupid early and try, or wait until the end of September and lose an hour of time every school day until then.
The night before Nathan was going to take Coen in to try to get one of those appointments…Nova woke up EVERY. 30. MINUTES. All night long. (At least Coen did end up passing this time.)
What makes that even worse is that, out of desperation, we thought maybe we try even converting Nova’s crib to a toddler bed. Maybe with her newfound freedom, maybe with access to Orson, they’ll wear each other out and nap easier. Ha. Haha. Hahahaha. *sob*
Adapt, Overcome, Compromise?
It started with the straightforward conversion of Nova’s crib to a toddler bed. And all hell broke loose.
Not due to Nova. Oh no, Orson could. not. cope. He went full-on BIG BROTHER on Nova. Anytime she tried to get out of bed to just happily explore their room, the little dictator would leap out of his bed and shout at her. “Bedtime! Nova, bedtime!” He’d point to her bed, escalate, start to cry and yell. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t let her idly roam.
When he physically pushed her, or when she’d run to jump into his bed and he’d try to drag her out, it was like, Yep, not happening. So a compromise was made: we put her zip-up tent over her new toddler bed. Does she feel like she has more freedom? Yes. Can she get out of bed? No. Does it help with her sleep? Also no.
OCD: Orson’s Crying Disorder
Maybe it would. But a new issue has arisen to add to the list of parenting struggles. Orson’s naptime strike. So, it’s developmentally appropriate in some ways, sure. But some of the nap disruption has brought our attention to certain signs that Orson might have OCD…or at least some tendencies. Obviously, still too early to say.
It makes sense, given that Nathan and I both have similar tendencies, but oof. It is causing Orson emotional distress for sure. Everything has to be in its perfect place. Certain books have to be in the drawer, others have to be on the correct shelf. He had a very particular ritual with his pillow placement until I finally just had to take it out of their room.
And if it’s not addressed the first time he mentions it over the monitor, expect some major tears and shouting. Did I not say “bye-bye” in response to his “bye-bye” before closing his bedroom door after our long, ritualized bedtime routine of “hearts in hands”, high fives, prayers, and “kiss-hugs”? How will he ever forgive me?
His memory is sharp, his routines and expectations are fixed, and his distress at unmet expectations is palpable.
Which, of all the weeks for it to happen, led to his first REAL public meltdown.
Parenting Struggles at the Library
If you were wondering about my blog title inspiration, I’m going to fill you in.
So, it’s been a rough couple of weeks of significant sleep deprivation, early mornings, lots of Mama guilt and survival-mode, screen-time days. The intense summer heat has us staying inside most days, and we’ve had some big bills this month (vet and car stuff) that have kept us from some of our favorite indoor outings.
These factors have all led to some significant stir-craziness.
For a few weeks now, I’ve been doing Friday, once-a-week New Braunfels Public Library trips, but after a really rough start to the week, I wanted to get the babies out of the house to have some fun. In fact, maybe until the weather improves, I should just get them to NBPL two or three times a week to socialize and get energy out.
Seemed like a great plan.
Until it was time to leave the library this fateful Wednesday, and there had been no “dancing party”.
For context, on Fridays, the NBPL has been putting on a really fun, bilingual, singalong activity time for littles in the kids’ section. Orson absolutely obsesses over it. He LOVES his “dancing parties”. His favorite song in particular is “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes”, and it’s all he can talk about when we leave the library on Friday mornings.
Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Woes
This public meltdown started simply enough. With some stomps and whines. I told the library clerk “Yeah, he really loves the singalongs y’all do here”, just trying to ease the awkward tension escalation.
Bear in mind, I’m also attempting to wrangle Nova, who’s clutching a toy cantaloupe and trying to sprint away (giggling maniacally) like a chubby, little running back. I get ahold of her, I take Orson’s hand, and he jerks away from me. Guys, the following event was a pitiful and tragic display.
He literally started singing through tears, “head, shoulders, knees, toes”, pointing to each body part as he did so, continuing to stomp and rage at this perceived injustice. Where was the dancing party?! He is NOT entertained!
He is also refusing to walk with me. In fact, as I try to lead him toward the exit, he crumbles. Rigor mortis sets in, he turns to dead weight, which is fine, I guess. I can always physically remove him. So it’s fine. Except for the fact that he’s now rage screaming. In a library. Not fine.
Mama Mantra
I am a gentle parent. On repeat. Deep breath. Intrusive thoughts flooding my brain. Everyone is staring at me. All of these people are judging me. I’ve seen way too many past–generational Facebook comments criticizing people for not beating their kids in public. “People like you are what’s wrong with the world today”, blah, blah, blah. People want me to spank him for being upset.
I smile through the social anxiety and embarrassment. I’m not ashamed of my son. It’s just embarrassing in general. It’s his first public meltdown, and in spite of the rough time we’ve all had lately, I’m trying to stay grounded and calm.
I scoop up all 60 collective pounds of toddler weight in my arms and carry them through the door. It’s still not over. Now Orson is screaming because I won’t let him walk. But if I set him down to let him walk, he just wants to run back to the library, so that won’t work. I stopped twice to set him down, to get on his level, lower my voice, and to talk him through it.
Finally, heading through the parking lot, I desperately told him “You are allowed to be upset, you’re even allowed to scream and cry, but you are NOT allowed to be unsafe. By not cooperating with Mama, you’re being unsafe. I’m going to carry you because it is my job to protect you”.
Just like that, by the time we got to the car, he had completely calmed and was rationally talking about the disappointing sting of no dancing party and not getting to walk. He was okay now, but Mama needs to emotionally recover. To remind herself that toddler meltdowns are normal. That I can step foot back in the library without shame.
Rip the Rug Out
I’d like to say that his public meltdown has been the worst part of the week. But every day conspires to throw countless more parenting struggles our way.
Orson doesn’t just take a simple nap strike. We’ve told him, “Listen, buddy, sister needs to sleep, but you can read. You can play with your toys. But you. need. to. be. quiet. It’s quiet time“. So does he take the hint, read the room, play nice and quietly out of heartfelt consideration for Nova? Absolutely not.
Generally, they chatter away for a while. He opens and slam-closes the closet doors, digs through his drawers, flips through his books, and practices his counting and letter sounds. Honestly, it’s all well and good…until he finds something to be upset about.
This day, they finally quieted down. Sigh of relief. This is nice. Maybe his strike will come to an end.
“POOPY!!!”
His screaming sobs break the peaceful silence. Ugh, Mama’s coming. Anticipating that he maybe had a soiled diaper and/or wanted to get on the toilet, I quickly went to retrieve him from the nursery. I opened the door and was desperately greeted by my “finger painter”.
“Poopy.” Yep, I can see that. All over his hands. Smeared down his thighs. It’s still dark in their room, so, with resignation, I lead him out and to the bathroom to start clean-up. Once that’s taken care of, I send him back to bed. I have to re-tuck him in, unless I want to hear him scream and cry “bankit!” for the next few minutes, so after replacing his blanket and giving another “kiss-hug”, I take my leave.
“POOPY!!!” There it is again. FML. I return, open the door back up…MORE poop on his hands! Where is it coming from?? It’s not on his bed or in his blankets. We turn on the light (poor Nova) and finally see it. Their high-pile, green shag “grass” rug. Soft. Squishy. Smeared. He pooped SO MUCH that it was not only all over himself, but also in several spots on this rug.
At least the rug had two good years of life before it made its way to our garbage can. This particular rug is NOT washable like our others. Buh-bye, poo-poo.
The Parenting Struggles Are Real
Hell, I’m tired just writing this. It’s been a long couple of weeks. Trying to maintain some modicum of balance here. Connect with and raise and gently discipline the kids without losing my mind.
Trying to stay on top of laundry and housekeeping for 4 people (at least I’ve taught Coen how to do his own). Write and research for this blog. Maintain a happy marriage with Nathan. Pray everyday. Workout. And I decided to start therapy (stay tuned for that exciting journey).
But most days lately, it feels like the babies won’t sleep, the teenager won’t learn, the husband and I are too burnt out to truly connect as much as we’d like to. For as much work as we collectively put in, in this season, it feels so often that it’s all for naught. We’re spinning our tires, but not gaining any ground.
Things could always be worse…
Sure, things could be worse. I could still be working as a RN, my entire paycheck solely designated to cover childcare costs. If Nathan weren’t as awesome as he is about sharing the load, like doing most of the cooking (even though he works AND is writing a novel), I’d have that much more on my plate. (I can cook, my cooking just tends to be unhealthier.)
He and I have been feeling the strain of our unavailable village. I’m thankful my children have one set of healthy grandparents, but they’re on the other side of the country. And it was nice having his brother and sister-in-law close for the past 2 years. Enjoying the playdates for as long as we could until they made the move to Puerto Rico.
I’m thankful that Coen is able to watch the baby monitor so that Nathan and I are able to get an occasional evening date. It is tough, though, feeling like we couldn’t ever leave him in charge during daytime hours to get a breath when we still have the energy to enjoy it. We’re going to attempt it soon, but I don’t have super high hopes about it.
I spend most days, start to finish, feeling overstimulated. Overwhelmed. Grateful, but too drained to feel the positivity in the gratitude. Sound, restful sleep would go a long way in aiding that, but even without children, that’s always been hard to come by for me.
I say this all to say, my parenting struggles are real. So are yours.
I wish I had more hope to offer in this post, but I’ve been running on short supply of it myself these days. I know, logically, that this is just an ephemeral season. But in regards to parenting struggles, what the mind knows and what the heart feels aren’t always synchronized.
I think the best that we can hope for is to grant ourselves validation in the hardship. I’m allowed to be having a hard time parenting well. It’s okay and normal for this to be difficult. Don’t minimize the excruciating frustration you feel in your circumstances. Make room to honor that feeling, or be doomed to have it come out as explosive reactivity.
We’re allowed to feel the toll that parenting struggles take on us and not feel the need to compare it to someone else’s journey. Parenting struggles are freaking hard on us all.
Especially when they involve sleep-deprived, poopy, “dancing party” meltdowns.