Anatomy of a Mommy Meltdown

It all starts with me waking up in a grumpy mood. I should have sensed that the universe was trying to ease me into the day, like a frog in a hot pot that doesn't know he's going to get cooked. That’s how a Mommy Meltdown happens. First things get one degree worse, then five. Then another degree. And then two more. All the while you’re treading water so furiously, you hardly notice the heat. By the time you realize your goose is cooked, you're so exhausted that you really don't care. You give in. To tears, to burned cookies, to talking to yourself, to yelling at your computer (all of which happened this morning). And then you remember that Mommyhood is not like any other job on the planet. There is no bathroom break, no lunch, no office door to close. "You're deep-fried but you're still on duty Crispy", I tell myself.

With about 9 million things to do today, and a plan to stay home so I could do them, it's beautiful and cool outside. Which makes me feel like a bad mom for keeping the kids in. Two normally amazing kids who decided this morning to cry or whine from the moment my husband walked out the door. Literally. I watched him stop to talk to neighbors as he drove away and jealously wanted to trade lives for the day. But then I realized I hadn’t yet made it out of my pajamas and my teeth weren’t brushed, so I canceled that thought and told myself it wouldn’t last long. Really, I should know by now not to think these things. For three hours they take turns, non-stop, as my anxiety level ratchets up. Diapers? Not it. Hungry or thirsty? Nope. Want to play with me? Nope. Want to be left alone? Definitely not! Want to watch mom make cookies (the only thing I really wanted to check off my to-do list this morning)? Course not. Have I mentioned it's now 10:30, the cookies may very well have several ingredients left out, and I haven't had my coffee yet?

I can feel the lump rising in my throat. I think my body is skipping straight to the ugly-cry without my consent. So with the babies safely in their pack n plays, I grab a handful of questionable-looking cookies and head into the garage to regroup. I see the van and for a nanosecond I think about leaving, but I looked down at myself. Still in pajamas, still no teeth (or hair) brushed, with cookie crumbs raining over my bare feet. And still, the whining/crying persists from behind the door. Apparently the cookies gave my blood sugar a spike, because I crushed the escape plan and headed back in.

Having tried everything else, I decide to try to reason with the children. "What do you WANT?!?" I blurt out, every time they start up. Funny, they didn't answer. They didn't get better. They got worse. Guess the feeling was mutual.

At this point, I email the hubster about the morning, trying to sound like I still have all my marbles. I’m not sure that there was any kind of reply that could have made me feel better. Unless it included the cavalry, chocolate, or my mother. I can't remember his answer, only the gnashing of teeth and brief moment of quiet as the kids looked on in awe of this meltdown thing.

We went outside. The kids clad only in t-shirts and diapers, and me daring anyone to question my pajamas, bed-head and fuzzy teeth. Caden promptly bit me. Addison smashed the lid to the sandbox into the only blooming plants in our entire yard. And both kids clearly enjoyed making their ever-so-put-together mother sprint up and down the driveway after them. Over and over.

I counted the minutes until we could come in for lunch. At lunch I counted the minutes until the kids took their nap. Once they were finally down, I surveyed the battleground. Toys were strewn about everywhere. The kitchen is the sort of disaster area that would cause my husband to break out in hives. My full cup of coffee is still sitting on the counter, mocking me. And I’ve not one drop of energy left with which to brush my teeth or put actual clothes on.

Meltdown complete.