The following is excerpted from The Mom Babes: A Motherhood Anthology.
My daughter called me Mad Mommy. Again. I was filled with rage. I had the same dragon fire eyes that I had seen before, in my childhood. I learned at a young age that noise was unwelcomed. Crying, complaining, or high-pitched laughter was enough to get a flash of dragon eyes, and I was perpetuating this cycle.
I was a mad mommy. All of it made me mad. Cooking for the children and cleaning up after them. I was mad that I had to put on jackets and even more mad that I had to zip them up. My life felt so uncomfortable. Like those oversized?deli sausages at the supermarket, I was about to burst. I didn?t have control over my anger. I thought if I only had a few more hours in the week or a bit more money, I could make my life and my schedule a bit more comfortable, and I would stop exploding so easily. The routine had become mundane. Playing, chasing, feeding, cleaning, organizing activities, and preparing backpacks and snacks, but after all of that was done I found myself drowning. I was working evenings from my home office to make up for the items I didn?t tick off the days or weeks before. I was frustrated that I couldn?t do exactly what I wanted, when I wanted. I was emotionally exhausted; my performance at work was slipping, and I started having digestion issues.
I thrived on the organized chaos. When someone would tell me, ?I don?t know how you do it all,? it would fuel me. Because it meant they could ...