Perfectly Real

I had a dark day on Saturday.

This happens to me a couple of times a year. For no real reason things just seem off, harder than usual, insurmountable even, admittedly dramatic. I question choices I've made, motivations (or lack thereof), who I am and how I'm doing at life.

The day went fine. I got to run again, run errands without kids in tow, slept well. I was coming off of a great week after a few hard ones before. Ian had been amazing. Seeing that I needed some space and time and giving it to me while taming our tiresome twosome.

I really can't say what tipped me off. I just needed a good meltdown. I think we all do sometimes.

I cried, I wrote, I snuggled my head into the safe crook of Ian's neck and let him tell me that it wasn't all as bad as I thought, that things would look up in the morning.

You know what? They did.

Sunday we went to church. Ainsley survived the nursery with Louise as her wing-gal. Ian and I attended service ALONE for the first time since college and revelled in the silence and peace. Even the sub-par lunch buffet at our favorite Indian restaurant couldn't get us down. It was a good day.

But my crying jag left me thinking.

As mothers, and parents there are so many things that are unsaid. Some rightly so, like how hard childbirth is, how slow and arduous the recovery, how little sleep (and thanks) you survive on for so long. But I feel like there are some things that should be admitted, said out loud so that we don't feel alone. Like that it's normal to feel like a complete failure sometimes, to wonder if you've messed your children up for good. That life isn't perfect and that every day isn't rainbows and sunshine, and any parent who says so is lying.

Part of the good news bad news about blogging for me has been getting an inside look at other moms lives. I feel like so much is sugar coated and I sometimes feel like the lone wolf telling it like it is. (of course I'm not speaking of any of my mama friend bloggers, I love you all)

Ian stumbled across a hilarious mom "tweeter" (is that right?) this weekend and one of her "isms" that stood out was "any parent who does't have something bad to say about their child isn't spending enough time with them." I laughed out loud. But isn't it true?

Why can't we all just say it? We love our kids I know we all do. It doesn't make us bad parents to say that sometimes our two year olds annoy us, and deliberately so. That we wish our babies wouldn't just cry and cry for no reason. That sometimes we literally feel like we are going INSANE! Of course they are "perfect" and wonderful because they are ours but that doesn't make us blind to their faults, and ours as parents too.

I am here to say that I am not perfect. That there have been days when I have thought more than once "what were we thinking?" That my best friend has called me on numerous occasions and said "I was just feeling sad about not being married and having babies and wanted to talk to you to feel better about it" (I love you Lisa, and PLEASE laugh at this, I always do).

It doesn't make me a bad parent to admit these things. It doesn't make me love my children or my husband or my life any less. But it does unburden me some.

I am hesitant even to post this as I'm sure it will strike some as harsh or accusatory. It is not meant as any of those things.

I wish I could be one of those parents who exudes happiness and bliss every moment. But I am not. I feel things hard and keeping them in just makes me explode all the worse the next time.

So the next time you hear me rant about Ainsley's antics, gush about my amazing husband and adorable daughters, or lament about my complete loss of freedom, bear with me. It's all real and it's all I've got.