I hate these days.

[janradder]

There are some days when I put the boys in bed and come downstairs and feel lucky to be father. I reflect back on the day, remembering things that the kids said or did or certain moments where everything just seemed right.

Then there are days when Arie is being a pain in the ass and being unpleasant or throwing fits but I seem to roll with it like a judo fighter, dodging his parries and blows with ease, deflecting each invective he hurls as if it were nothing. On those days, I feel exhausted but accomplished. I think back with pride at how deftly I handled all the difficult situations I came across.

And then there are days like today. When I stay patient for most of the morning and afternoon and then finally lose it. Sometimes I yell, sometimes I take things away, but I can't wait until both boys are in bed and my job is over. Arie usually goes to bed crying on these days because I've taken away a toy or stories or bath-time or everything. When he finally calms down, he'll ask for a hug and want me to stay with him for a few minutes and I swear, sometimes, it takes all I have to go and hug him because I'm still so pissed off. When I get downstairs I eventually cool down but the day feels like it's still stuck in my throat. When I finally go upstairs to move Arie from our bed to his own, he'll be asleep and I'll carry his soft, sleeping body in my arms just like I did when he was an infant. At those times, he seems so sweet, so unlike the child who hours before was threatening to hit me or break something of mine or just plain yelling, and I feel like the shittiest father in the world no matter how many times I tell myself I'm not.

Comments

[janradder.livejournal.com]

Thanks.