Dumpster Days

Sometimes I'm overcome with the suffocating feeling that I don't want to be a mom anymore.

YES, I love my child more than myself.

NO, I would never realistically give her up (but dream about it? Pssh, don't get me started on the tantalization!)

Those are the main truths in my life that give me reason to live. And yes, as paradox's go, this one's a doozy. But there are moments, somewhat small, where I simultaneously love my child and loathe being her mother. There are moments when we are in the middle of a full fledged, all out, locked horns, neither backing down battlefront, WWIV in the making (I described WWIII in a prior post when Eva was on the verge of her 2nd birthday - coincidence now that WWIV is waged a mere days before her 3rd birthday? I think not...) - it is in these moments that my head pounds, my heart squeezes out beat after beat, my stomach clenches, my bowels loosen and I long for the blissful days of my youth when far less trivial matters bothered my pretty little head.

Sigh... the days of sleeping in till 10:00 a.m., 11 even! with ne'er a crying toddler to console in the room next over.

Ahhh... the days when breakfast, lunch and dinner were eaten at MY schedule, at MY leisure, and WITHOUT simultaneously forcing a pink plastic spoon through the teeth of a young child.

Oh, such beatific moments when an Oreo cookie could be consumed, if not a dozen, without having to hide its presence lest having to share said cookie with a disgruntled toddler.

Alas, but to be able to surf through Pinterest, Facebook, Youtube, Grooveshark, Twitter!! with no nagging feelings of guilt nor pleas of "Is it MY turn?! Is it MY turn?!" ringing aloud ever 2.5 seconds.

Long gone are the days when car rides were spontaneous, short (due to lack of potty breaks, leg stretches and melt downs), and errands run around town didn't consist of lugging a 35lb heavy weight in and out and in and out of car seat after store after car seat after store who tries to eat, break, steal, touch and cry over every glittery item that catches their eye.

Such enraptured, effortless days were those! Where did they go? When can I get them back? Why did I ever knowingly cast them aside?

My wonderful sister in law, who is the fabulous mother to 2 darling children, proclaimed these days as "Dumpster Days." And boy-o did I ever jump on the band wagon with that one! Finally! A term that described these feelings adequately. Days when I might actually consider selling my daughter for a bag of Doritos and a Cherry Dr. Pepper. Days when you look at your child crying splayed out in the middle of the aisle at the grocery store with a line up of veteran mothers behind you and you wish you could say aloud to them "She's not MY kid - geez, what a spaz!" Am I a terrible mother? Am I a horrific human being?

I would dare to assume that any/all mothers out there, single mothers especially, have had days like this. If they claim not, they may be delusional/foolish/lying. Take your pick.So, with all that being said, it's a damn good thing that most mothers come with an innate, built in quality which ties us inexplicably to our offspring.

Otherwise, those Doritos would be miiiiiighty tempting.