Today, I thought we’d take our girl out for hot chocolate. We got dressed and put our shoes on. We locked up the house and went out to the car. She started getting defiant and cranky, so I got defiant and cranky.
We played through this series of events twice today.
But I still wanted hot chocolate, so papa went and got it to-go, and bebe got hers for “napping well.”
I’m really good at this.
I have a journal that was gifted to me when I was pregnant. The concept is that you document everyday motherhood — one happy thought, sentence, sentiment, memory every single day.
It’s a wonderful journal, but when I think about it, I feel like a failure. I miss documenting a lot of days — lately, most days. My go-to entry on days that I forget to journal is, “Oops!” I used that a lot the first year she was born. I just couldn’t keep up. When I got to year two of her life, my stomach sank every time I came across an “Oops!” entry from the year prior.
“What happened that day last year?” I’d think. Did she hit a new milestone? Was she happy that day or fussy? How many teeth did she have?
I still come across those entries. The big gut punches are the days I come across where I’ve missed both years to-date. 2015: Oops! 2016: Oops! I know I’m on track to three-peat some days. Next year, I’ll look back and come across days that I have never journaled. 2017: Oops!
Not journaling makes me feel anxious, regretful, and inadequate, but I also recognize that not journaling probably means I am tired — from reading an extra book at bedtime, from working all day so I feel good, from prepping her lunches for school, from a nightcap that made me fall asleep on the couch (again).
I guess what I’m saying is that I’m not too shabby.