There are mornings like that, when you wake up already feeling like you’ve taken two hits. Your hair is a mess because you didn’t have time to dry it after yesterday’s quick shower. Your breasts are sagging in your old, stained camisole that doubles as pajamas. You sit on the edge of the bed, just before going to check on your little one who’s wailing at 5:00 a.m., and all you see is the stack of books that’s been waiting for you for two years on the nightstand. You stretch and head toward your little one’s room—he’s screaming because it’s taking you more than two minutes. You still take the time to pull your big panties out from between your legs, splash some cold water on your face, and put on your glasses.
There are mornings like these when you feel like backing up instead of moving forward. The day begins: there’s no milk for your coffee, no sun, and all your laundry is dirty. Once you’ve finally finished that never-ending routine, you force your kid into the car—which is out of gas—and drop them off at daycare. You hit the highway for work, having left your lunch by the door and a load of towels in the washer.
You yawn all day, your coworkers are getting on your nerves, and you have a terrible headache. It’s 4:00 p.m., and you rush over to daycare as fast as you can to avoid paying late fees. You pick up your kid and stop at the grocery store to buy something ready-made for dinner: some good old mac and cheese. You ignore the dietary guidelines and avoid a fight.
At home, you tidy up the dishes, laundry, and toys while singing “Si tu aimes le soleil.” You wash a dirty mouth, put together a puzzle, and run another load of the towels from the day before. Then it’s bath time—the moment when there’s water everywhere, soap in the eyes, and boats sinking. Finally, pajamas, a pacifier, milk, and a stuffed animal. At 7:00 p.m. sharp, you finally tuck your little one into bed and close the door.
You head to your bedroom and think about the bathwater full of bubbles, the load of laundry still forgotten in the washer, and your worn-out comforter dangling off the side of the bed. And then you break down. You cry your heart out, your nose runs, and you sob. Because, girl, you’ve had enough.
You’re all alone in your sheets, curled up in a little ball. The tears are flowing, and nothing’s happening. Something inside you hurts, but you’re not quite sure where. Your boyfriend’s working away from home and is too busy to text you sweet nothings. Your neighbors are playing outside and shouting a little too loudly. The fan is blowing the bedroom curtains around and making way too much noise. You wonder what on earth you were thinking when you had that crazy urge to have a baby. You’re absolutely kicking yourself and thinking back on your life before this. And you’re crying again because you haven’t slept much in the last two years. For a few seconds, everything stops. You take a deep breath, and it passes. You calm down. You wipe your face with the pillow and go check on your sleeping son. He’s so beautiful, so perfect. You stroke his hair, tell him you love him, and that tomorrow will be better.
When it’s time to go to bed, you remember that there are also mornings with peanut butter kisses, filled with hugs and Paw Patrol. That there are mornings when a little hand strokes your face or playfully pats your butt while laughing. There are also mornings when you wonder how you ever got through the days without all that unconditional love.
Let yourself go, Mom—cry for a moment. Let it all out and fall asleep peacefully, because there will be so many more beautiful mornings to come.