Not Just a Job

Most of the time I feel like a pretty good mom. Sure, there are many things I could do more of, do less of, or simply do better. But I love my daughter. I play with her, sing to her, comfort her (when she lets me), teach her, meet her needs, and fulfill her desires as much as I can while still setting boundaries and not spoiling her. She's my world, and I truly adore her.

However, because I'm a stay-at-home mom, she's also my job. And as with any job, there are aspects about mothering that suck. Most of them I feel I can handle with relative decorum, but sometimes I feel like I am going to explode with frustration and helplessness. Lunch time is invariably one of those times.

My used-to-eat-everything-until-I-realized-I-had-power-and-could-refuse-things child is, like most toddlers, annoyingly picky about food. And also like most toddlers, she is dizzyingly capricious. She wants Cheerios. As soon as I fill a little bowl for her, she wants chips instead. She eats one chip and then wants a cheese stick. I give her a cheese stick, and she cries and says, "No! Cheese stick!" I respond, "You want a cheese stick?" She says, through tears, "Yeah, okay. Cheese stick!" I hand her the cheese stick, and she throws it as if it were a live grenade. And again, screaming.

All of this is what happens when she'll actually eat food. Most of the time, she won't even come to the kitchen. I ask what she wants for lunch--suggesting every possible thing I can think of--and she says, "No! All done!" She doesn't want to eat. She wants to starve to death. Or she wants chocolate chips. Those are the only options.

Anyway, Aubrey's behavior isn't really the issue. I mean, it is, but it's not. Not for this particular blog post, anyway. The issue is me. The issue is how I respond to this behavior. And lately especially, that's been not well. I yell back. I tell her she's driving me crazy. When I really can't handle it anymore, I walk away and ignore her for awhile. And when she becomes my sweet girl again, as she always does, sometimes I'm still mad and continue to ignore her. She says cute things, and I don't respond. I don't engage. I don't love her.

But of course I do love her. That feeling never stops, no matter what. But I don't act like I love her; I don't show her my love. And isn't that just as bad?

After the lunch tantrums are over and all returns to sweet conversing and endearing play, I cool off too. And then I feel horrible. I feel like an awful mom. I see everything I should have done and everything I shouldn't have, but by then it's too late. I've yelled. I've huffed. I've stormed off. I've thrown a mini adult tantrum of my own. And what does that accomplish? What does it teach my impressionable daughter?

Am I really so immature, so incapable of controlling my emotions that I can't keep my cool any more easily than a child who's not even two years old?

Okay, maybe it's pregnancy hormones. Maybe it's my anxiety flaring up and then being exacerbated by pregnancy hormones. Or maybe it's just that Aubrey has reached a new stage of life and I'm still trying to figure out how to respond. Whatever the case, it doesn't matter. There's no excuse. And this can't go on.

Yes, our jobs can be infuriating and push us to our limits. But my job involves a little person--my sweet, wonderful child. And yes, it's human nature to get sick of someone when you spend too much time with them. But I chose to devote this period of my life to caring for this one person, and that involves a lot of time together.

The question then becomes this: When your child is your job, how do you not treat her like just a job?

I'm sure the answer is "love" or something, but I've learned in my life that love isn't always enough. There are about a billion other factors involved, and I'm pretty sure I have none of them figured out.

Awesome. Bring on child number two! *Sigh*