a confession

Today was my third "inclement weather" day off of work in one week. While some people may have seen it as a vacation day, I was bordering on some very cranky bad-moodiness. I've been feeling out of sorts lately, stretched too thin by the demands of work, my toddler, my family, my house - there are always chores to be done, baths to be given, commutes to be made, and it was just reaching a breaking point for me this week. Frankly, I just needed a break.

By the end of today, I was admittedly frazzled. The roads were fine by noon, but the almost-freezing temperatures and wind outside made it impossible to leave the house. I was tired - tired of the mess, tired of Britton's inability to communicate with me, tired of doing dishes, tired of the cold weather, just tired. And so after dinner I turned on the news. And Britton promptly went up to the television and turned it off. I turned it back on, she turned it back off. Again and again. And I just snapped and yelled at her. She couldn't have known it was coming - she does it all the time and the hub and I barely bat an eye (unless a game is on, though by now the hub has taken to recording any important shows just in case). I stomped out of the living room, and Britton, no doubt scared and stunned, followed me crying. And I'm not proud of what I did next, but I am honest. I ignored her. I froze her out, denied her the comfort she needed. It only lasted a minute because once I saw her tear-streaked face I grabbed her up and gave her a tight hug. And we sat on the couch and hugged just like that and I told her I was sorry for yelling, until she wanted down.

She grabbed for my hand, and I let her lead me to the guest bedroom, where she wanted to play with the night diapers on the bed. And she grabbed a couple of diapers and threw them up and laughed and I just started bawling. I tried to hold it in, but I couldn't. I was just so overcome by the guilt of being an asshole (there really isn't another wholly-descriptive term for what I was being) to my kid because of my own issues. I made her feel like she did something wrong when she didn't. I was well aware that the attitude that needed adjusting was mine, not hers, and I didn't do anything to correct myself until after I blew up at an innocent bystander.

She just looked at me crying. And you know what she did? She handed me her Winnie. Which of course made me feel like an even bigger asshole, and I started ugly crying (you know, heaving cries and red eyes and a runny nose) and she curled up next to me on the bed and hugged me. She leaned herself against me and curled into the crook of my arms and just hugged me until I stopped crying.

I've decided that I need an outlet for my bad moods. I can't always talk to my sister because she has a baby that needs her more, and my mom doesn't always turn her phone back on from vibrate and hear it ring, and I don't really have any friends here, and penting it up obviously isn't working. Starting tomorrow, I'm working out again. Blood, sweat or tears - I've got to find a release. A release that doesn't involve me becoming an angry mom.