Making Waves

I spend a lot of time feeling like a real shit mom.


Between the current phase of twenty nine minute naps (I mean, EXACTLY. Girl wakes up at twenty nine minutes EVERY time) and the oppressive heat wave (Northern Albertans are not accustomed to 35 degree heat, especially since none of us have air conditioning) my lovely little one has had her fair share of truly unpleasant days.

The dream: pulled together mom, glowing skin, baby on her hip, walking out in the summer sun, below a wide brimmed hat and beach umbrella. Baby giggles and coos at the flowers and birds, the wind in the trees, at mom’s ever smiling and calm face.

The reality: haggard mom, dripping with sweat, tries to wrestles equally sweat drenched baby to sleep, as baby is overtired, and sleep becomes more and more elusive by the minute. Baby’s face is red from screaming, spit dribbles from her chin onto mom’s forearms, as she scoops the pacifier up off the floor yet again, and washes is with one hand. Eventually, mom sets baby down in crib, plunks herself in rocking chair, head in her hands, and watches as baby, essentially, passes out. (Cries self to sleep, whatever you want to call it.)

And as I slowly creep out of her room, hoping to scoop up something called a meal in that (please please please let it be) twenty nine minutes, I think of her sobbing and wailing to sleep, unable to be consoled by the only real resource she has, me, and I start to feel a flutter in my chest.

And a pang behind my eyes.

And a lump in my throat.

And then I feel like a real shit mom.


Don’t get me wrong. I won’t change it for the world. Every moment like this is bookended by thousands more full of smiles, snuggles, sweet little cheeks and chubby wrists and ankles. Isn’t it a shame that it’s always the hard ones that make the waves?

As I rock and sway, slick with sweat, my daughter, my wished for, hoped for, wanted, loved, and prayed for daughter in my arms, crying her tiny little heart out because, motherf*%k, she JUST needs to sleep, and I think, oh my god, I can’t DO this….it’s days like these that I need a swap.

On days like these, I call in backup, and Dad steps up to the plate. Lucky that he owns his own business. I go to work for two blissfully quiet, air conditioned hours, during which time I absorb high speed internet (rural living has its drawbacks) and manage to revisit the ‘ol blog. And in those two hours, I have time to stop and think about how lucky I am that he helps me as much as he does. How lucky I am to have him. How lucky I am to have her.

And how beautiful it sounds when she laughs for me.

And I get a little flutter in my chest.

And a pang behind my eyes.

And a lump in my throat.

And I miss her.

And then I feel like a shit mom again, for needing that break so badly.


So, parenting. So far, seems like a vehicle for guilt.


But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

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5 Responses to Making Waves

  1. Lisette says:

    It’s a journey you’re both on together. You’re not a bad mum, you’re a normal mum! Keep doing what you’re doing 🙂 xo

  2. Parenting is the very best “vehicle for guilt” if you choose to see it that way. After many years of such I have chosen to let that go and continue to do what I know is best for my children without regrets. That’s all we can do in this life. Don’t be so hard yourself. Just love them – in all the ways that make them healthy, happy and functioning adults in the long run.

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