There are days when my voice cracks from shouting, like after this funny cheeky little one has squished the entire brand new bar of soap into tiny tiny pieces in the sink... She has done that twice this month. And started having "accidents" again - though this is assigning more positive intent than she perhaps deserves, when she *tells* me she is going to pee on the floor...
This morning was really bad. Talia cried in the night, the kind of crying that only pacing soothes, and Martin slept right through it (is there ANYTHING more infuriating??)! I pulled on clothes and sling and Tali and stormed out around sunrise, to walk and walk and restore my centre, and not throw things at my husband's head.
I knew he'd worry. I didn't care. I had to wrap that baby up and get out out out of that house.
After a while it occured to me that three little girls would worry, too.
Well, here I am, anyway. I'm home, I'm OK, and I'm feeling a bit daft for the dramatics. We're all fine. And tonight I'm going to throw things at my husband *before* I start to seethe - it's his turn to pace. ;)
I thought I was a patient person until I had children. I thought I was NICE. It can be harder than anything, not to react how my first instinct tells me to, not to retaliate, to pause and breathe and use my head and my heart. You wouldn't think it to look at the pictures. In the pictures, everything is beautiful and perfect.
Maybe the pictures contain the greater truth, after all.