Sometimes I think that many of my most ardent prayers fall on deaf ears. For instance, when I was up last night/morning at 4:15 A.M. with a 20 month old who was fighting off sleep, I fervently prayed for calmness and patience to withstand the ordeal, and not to plop him on the floor, alone in the dark, and go back to bed myself. Instead of finding a calm within a storm, I found tears– lots of them, that I shed for about an hour while my son FINALLY went back to sleep, although, not in time for me to get some extra rest too. And, I must confess, my fury didn’t give way completely either, for after I put my son back in his bed, I preceded to slam the bathroom door to our bedroom as hard as I possibly could to wake my still sleeping husband and threw one of the cats (literally) out of the bathroom when he was whining for his breakfast.
I’ve really been struggling emotionally through this pregnancy, and it’s starting to get on my nerves. When I was pregnant with Garrett, I was the calmest I’d been in my entire life, I think. Even my sister commented on how collected and together I was while pregnant. This time around, the opposite is true. I’m moody, tempermental, angry, and now, weepy. I snap at my husband and my son, going so far as to throw one of my son’s books across the room when he decided he wanted to do that instead of go to bed last night. With the anger and snappishness of course come huge loads of guilt and self-loathing which leads back to the weepy-ness. However, I’ve found in the past few days that just when I think I’ve reached my limit and can’t take anymore, God shows himself in small, unexpected ways.
The first was a conversation I had with my best friend who is now expecting their third child. She told me that she experienced much of what I was describing while pregnant with their second child. Her blood pressure was always up, she was constantly snapping at her husband, and she got extremely furious with their son at least once a day. She assured me that she had talked to other mothers who had a similar experience, and that I was not alone in this hormonal crisis.
The second little ray of hope was a conversation I had today with a colleague who has four children, the youngest of whom is 21 months. She too had been up through the night with her toddler, although her experience included skidding barefoot through dog pee and being told by her husband that she was, essentially, being crabby. She very easily could relate to what I’ve been feeling, and since she has four healthy, well-adjusted children, I figure it will all be o.k.
I know, in the end, that this too shall pass. And I thank God constantly for our son, even in the midst of my anger and frustration he causes. I’m also very grateful today to know that God is still listening to my hormonal rantings and ravings, and that, although I might feel alone at times, is still letting me know he’s there.
Blessings and Peace,