Trying....Really, Really Trying

I now know why my mom was always so crabby and tired looking. She had SEVEN kids to look after. I have two and daily I have to stop myself from driving to the airport, going to the Delta counter and saying, "I don't care where it goes. I don't care how much it costs. The next flight out? Put me on it."

I don't know why it's so hard. The girls are healthy and relatively happy. I say relatively because I don't really know how happy the bug is after a day of being snapped at by me. Sometimes she deserves it. Usually she doesn't. I try so hard not to snap, but it happens anyway. "NO! Do NOT do that! Er! Argh! Bah!"

Trying to keep the bug entertained one cold, rainy morning last week, I got out the paints and paintbrushes. She was in heaven and occupied for 20 whole minutes! Awesome! She moved on to fingerpainting! Fantastic! Until....she found out how cool it sounds when paint covered hands are squished together. Cool to a two-year-old. To Mommy's sleep deprived, over stressed, likely depressed, anxious ears it sounded REALLY FUCKING ANNOYING.

I tried to ride it out. "She's exploring her world. She's exploring her world." I told myself over and over again. Gritted my teeth. Clamped my eyes shut. Hummed "Shoot that Poison Arrow" over and over again. I couldn't take it. "BUG! STOPIT! Argh!" She was surprised, but nodded with a knowing look. ("Yes....mommy is dangerously close to an act of violence. I shall reluctantly, but wisely, end this task post-haste.")

I feel like a horrible person because I can't seem to get the hang of this. A baby needs my attention. So does a toddler. I help one and the other cries or accidentally destroys something. It seems so easy for other moms. And I feel like I'm doing it all so wrong that I shouldn't be doing it at all.