It doesn't always help to write about it

The end of my post last night wasn’t really the end of the night. I suppose it should have read:

And went to my room and cried…and then I was over it.

Meg didn’t nap well at daycare, so she was cranky all night. I had to work hard all evening to have a good night. But I did. I worked at it and things went well. And then I hit my whining threshold, and the bottles were dirty, and Meg wouldn’t listen when I said no, so I snapped. It happens. You get mad and scream at your child. Its wrong, but it happens. I apologized. I vowed to do better next time. I cried because I needed to let out all the frustration with her behavior and disappointment with mine. But then I was over it. I was fine.

Then I wrote about it. And got all angry again. And as soon as I finished writing, Thomas got home, so I didn’t even get a second to relax and read my book. So then I was mad at him for coming home 20 minutes before he said he would and “stealing” my alone time. I barely spoke to him for the rest of the night. My night would have been so much better if I’d just not written about it. After I got over it, I should have just forgotten the whole thing.

So why did I write about it? I don’t need reassurance. I know I’m still a good mother. I know this happens to everyone. I know you’ve gotten mad and yelled, too.

I guess its because I had the beginning of the post already written and it seemed disingenuous to end with “she splashed in the tub while I drank my latte and read a book.” Because that’s not how it really ended. But, even if I would have been guilty of only showing the good and not the bad, that’s OK. I don’t have to write about everything.