Though my husband would use more emphatic terms, I’d say I kinda flipped tonight.
I’ve been on edge all day. The kind of on edge that leads to a freeway shooting if someone fails to yield to me. I just couldn’t handle any little hiccup today. At one point this afternoon, I was curled up in bed crying, and my daughter climbed up onto the bed with me. She asked in her cute little four-year-old voice, “mommy, what’s wrong?” I don’t remember if I responded, or if I just kept crying. She lay down beside me and spooned with me. “You’re the best, mommy”. She says that to us a lot. She’s been sick for weeks now, from an ear infection/pink eye to strep throat, and has been even more clingy than usual, so I’m sure seeing me in the state I was in today was even more distressing.
I feel like such a failure as a mother when my child sees me like this. I’m terrified she’s going to grow up being scared for me. I really need to start tracking these wretched days, as I suspect they are at least partly due to hormone changes in preparation of surfing the crimson wave. For the last few months, I’ve been vaguely aware of these horrific days when I just want to take a bat to something. Like I wish I had a room full of china teacups that I could go into once a month and smash to dust. Then, once my rage is spent and I’m happily exhausted, I leave the room, and little oompa-loompas (the orange ones with green hair, thank you) come in and quietly clean up the shards and prepare for next time. Hmmm, what would they sing? I’ll have to give that some thought.