Motherhood makes me tired.

So my daughter has been a little bit of hell on wheels lately.

Twitter tells me it's normal - because, you know, she's five and all.

And this past weekend (oh, yeah, it's usually on the weekends - like whenever my husband and I have something planned to get us the heck out of dodge for say, a few hours, maybe? And then our plans? They get sucked into nowhere land. But I digress ...) was no exception.

She threw some sort of fit as we headed on some random errands and were going to grab some dinner out. "Strawberries! Strawberries! I want to go pick strawberries!"

This was on Friday night, if I recall correctly. Or maybe it was Saturday. See, that's the thing. She has these fits and cries and loses herself and knock wood or spit a few times we haven't had the physical explosion in a week or two, I guess, but the attitude and actions/reactions suck nearly as badly. And then I have no idea what day it is. Or when it happened. Or anything much at all.

So where was I? Right. Strawberries. My husband drove around and redirected us, so maybe we could at least pick up a bucket of strawberries or something. He was being reasonable. I wasn't having it - and the more she recited a stream of "Please, please, PLEASE!" the more we decided against that plan.

She wasn't listening. At all.

Some days I am so tired that all I can focus on is her meltdowns. Like right now, I'm typing this to say how we actually had some good moments last night. Some great ones. It was fun. It was positive. And instead I have to reprimand her for taking over the remote control and messing with the DVR.

NOT FUN. Not fun at all.

Damnit.

Ah, and now that's what happens. The slightest thing triggers me and I lose track of a positive.

It's not fun. It's mommy feeling on edge. Maybe emotionally charged. Maybe PMSing. Maybe on overload with various things that have set me off, I don't know. I just know that when the behaviors happen, I have to confess. I curse. A LOT. Not at her, but about her actions. Usually TO my husband. Like driving around in the Jeep I found myself saying things like, "Every FUCKING weekend!" and banging my hand against the side door.

Double damnit.

So my title changes and a post that was supposed to cover how fun it was to take my beautiful 5-year-old daughter to The Children's Place and take her into the dressing room to try on clothes and actually have a successful shopping trip (the last time we were there I walked out with her, she was awful. I put every single thing I had picked up for her down and back. No shopping for you, little girl!) and then head over to the bookstore and have her behave well there, too. And this was all after actually eating dinner, the three of us, without any storming off or mess-making issues.

So while all that was well and good and wonderful, I worry myself about when the next dose of attitude will be. When will I have to plop her into time out next? Send her to her room? Raise my voice?

I remind myself she is only five.

I remind myself how very much I love her.

And I remind myself I ALWAYS WILL.

But I also remind myself that I am human. I'm a mom, a strong one, but I'm a human being. And I'm entitled to anxiety, stress-related reactions, and to be TICKED OFF when my child refuses to listen in a way I know she can.

Le sigh.

Thanks, peeps. Thanks for listening. Despite where this post turned.

I poured my heart out, indeed.

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