The Mom Gig

It was as I was carrying my tantrum-throwing, screaming, hysterical, red-faced, possessed daughter to my car (in the rain, mind you, because, of course, at that moment it would also have to be pouring) that it occurred to me I really would not mind having a cry myself. I am sure a few moms out there (and, I don't know, perhaps a few dads) know what I am talking about. You know, those times when you have absolutely used up the last tiny particle of whatever it is that holds you upright and makes you a parent. Those times when you want to throw your hands up in the air and say "uncle" or "am I on camera?" because this cannot possibly really be happening just like this, can it? Those times when you are pretty sure you might actually be capable of ripping your own hair out of your head in frustration. Yup, I wanted a good cry. You see, we were leaving a play date and what should have been a fun time for Isabelle, only she was having one of her, shall we say, "moments," and basically lost it when I suggested she needed to start sharing or we would have to leave.


In truth, I should have saw it coming. It started with her reluctance to eat the macaroni and cheese offered for lunch. The whiny voice was a hint, and I should have probably made our exit sooner, but I foolishly thought once she was playing again she would be fine, as she had never had one of her meltdowns when her friends were around for distraction. No such luck. When it became clear to her that I would not take the toy she wanted away from her friend, Sean, she started to lose it, and in the few moments it took to put shoes and jacket on, my friends got to witness Isabelle in all her dramatic, over-the-top glory. Embarrassing to say the least, although driving home, watching Isabelle flail around in her car seat like a wild animal, still screaming at the loudest possible volume, it was the least of my concerns.


The tantrums/meltdowns are not new. It was referred to as colic when she was an infant, although Clay and I dubbed the non-stop crying infant version of Isabelle as her "Evil Twin." As she has gotten older she has improved and the "episodes" are much less frequent, but it is a continual challenge for me in teaching Isabelle how to handle and express her strongly felt emotions. Especially in light of the fact that she is not quite four and put simply is not truly capable of being totally reasoned with nor can she necessarily understand or even fully articulate how she feels. I am doing my best to help her find ways to self-soothe and calm herself when she becomes agitated and to teach her better methods to handle situations but obviously it is a process and not one that is fixed over night.

I pulled into the garage with her still yelling full force and shut off the car, inhaling a deep, shuddering breath as I did so. Yeah, I wanted to cry, but not because my kid acted like a psychopath in front of my friends (whoopee, all kids do sooner or later, and every parent knows it is true) and not because I think Isabelle is some damaged child who is somehow mentally defective because she throws fits that could probably register on the Richter scale. I just wanted to cry because sometimes this Mom gig is so damn HARD. And sometimes I just do not feel big enough for it or strong enough for it or GOOD enough for it. Sometimes I just want to curl up and have someone hug ME and say, "Yes, this is hard." (then the other part of me screams "no pity parties" and get over yourself!).

In the end I didn't cry, which is kind of amazing considering how often I am known to shed tears because I guess I have managed to figure one thing out in the time I have been Isabelle's Mom. Sometimes all you can do is just keep trying. Which is why we moms will continue to tell our kids no when they throw the same toy across the room for the millionth time, why we will keep putting that broccoli on their dinner plates, why we will keep reminding them to put on their bike helmets, buckle-up, look both ways, use their manners, and brush their teeth. And why I will talk with Isabelle when she is calmer about sharing toys and using her manners (and not acting like a maniac) when we are at our friend's house. Being a mom is hard, but I try to remind myself that anything worth doing usually is.