When Parenting is Particularly Relentless

Can we keep from piling on?

I go through stretches of time where I convince myself that I’ve evolved to a more calm, compassionate, efficient version of myself. I feel so evolved at times that I will even go so far as to judge my former self. What was I always flipping out about back then? Why would I have such outsized reactions to the kids fighting in the backseat of the car? Why was I hyper fixated on the messes the kids were making? What was it about getting dinner on the table that used to be so overwhelming? Then, my kids will have a stretch of time where, through no fault or premeditated planning of their own, they’ll have me up at all hours of the night— night after night, after night. From my state of sleep deprivation all judgment of my former self recedes and clarity as to why I used to move through life as an exposed nerve comes rushing back in. I am in the ‘rushing back in’ place.

The seasonal offerings of fall are here which means I have been up for the past twelve nights with any one of my four kids as they are coughing, throwing up, fighting fevers or having nightmares. The latter is a year-round activity, of course. In the early days of this streak, before I knew we were on a streak at all, I was filled with nothing but patience and compassion for the sick child I was helping. As the days wore on, however, I’ve observed my fuse get shorter and shorter, even while I was (and still am) doing my best to remain fully available to whichever kid needs me, at whatever time their need may present.

In addition to being awake at all hours of the night, my sensory experience as of late leaves a lot to be desired. I sometimes find myself sleeping next to a child who needs me close, yet whose breath smells like vomit and hot dogs. The other night I fought a sudden onslaught of frustration and despair at 3am as I watched a long strand of my daughter’s beautiful hair dip into toilet water as she is heaving over the bowl, knowing that exact wet strand of hair will be on my pillow when we are done with this particular vomit session. Sometimes, the child who finds their way to my bed will slap me in the face in the middle of the night and then move their hand all around my face as though they are searching for a pair of glasses on a nightstand. I’m on constant high alert as I spend my nights evaluating the sounds I hear coming from my children’s rooms, wondering if I need to spring into action. Often, I do spring into action. When everyone is tucked back in, I wonder if I should bother going back to sleep at all.

My days aren’t much more relaxing. Lately they consist of a mix of doctor’s appointments, blowing noses, setting up nebulizer treatments, wiping bottoms, changing sheets that have some unwelcome bodily fluid on them or stepping on pretzels that have been abandoned on the living room rug. Again, the latter example is a year round issue in our house, I just find myself more annoyed by it right now.

But there is a silver lining I’ve noticed in how I relate to myself in the midst of all this.

On not releasing the second arrow.

In Buddhism there’s this concept of the first arrow and the second arrow. The first arrow can be thought of as the suffering we inevitably experience as we move through life, or even our initial reaction to a painful event. It’s unavoidable and we didn’t do anything to cause it, yet we experience the pain of it nonetheless. The second arrow, however, is optional. The second arrow is our reaction to the first arrow. It can be fear, judgment, rumination, shame, self-loathing, etc.. The first arrow, in my case, can be thought of as being short-fused as a result of not sleeping. The second arrow, for me, used to be judgment about the way my sleep deprived self moved through the world, particularly in relation to my kids. But because I’ve had some distance from sleep deprivation over the past couple of years, I have more clarity about the fact that the way I am reacting to things isn’t because I have somehow regressed as a parent. It’s not because I need to learn how to overcome being short-fused, and it’s certainly not because I’ve failed to understand my children’s need for me right now. I’m simply tired. Really, really tired. And as much as I could go searching around for ways to stay calm, or more sensitively attune to my children, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I will be back to doing those things spontaneously as soon as my fundamental need for sleep is met. 

There’s nothing for me to do right now but suggest to my 11 year old daughter that she ease up with the attitude until I am sleeping (she gets it!), apologize if I lose my cool with the kids, and wait until they are all healthy again. Basically, if I can accept myself as a human with basic human needs, I can be compassionate when I know those needs aren’t able to be met. When I do this, I deal with only one arrow. And right now, that one arrow is plenty.

Alternatively, if I assume that, as a mother, I should be able to ascend past my physiological needs and still function in an ideal way in relation to my children, I have left myself with no other option than self judgment, or, in other words, releasing that second arrow.

“Five Things,” And One Too Many

In the process of writing this post, which has unfolded over a few sleep-deprived days, I have unsurprisingly come down with the nasty cold that is circulating in our house. I am on day two of needing to stay home from work because I feel and sound dreadful. Last night I was up once again helping children with coughs, nightmares and foot cramps (I kid you not, foot massages have now made their way onto the menu of things I’m doing in the middle of the night). Going through all these motions while exhausted and sick reminded me of a time just after Molly was born when I had a ridiculous series of events going on and I was trying to remain absurdly calm. I knew I had typed up a whole vignette to one of my friends where I described the scene. I searched my email, and I found it for you. A slightly slanted example of the unnecessary nature of a second arrow, or in this case a “fifth thing.”

I’ll set the scene to say that Cecelia, my oldest, had a rocky adjustment after her brother, Colin, was born. When our third, Molly, came along I was trying hard to keep a close eye on how Cecelia was managing. I checked the date of this story and for context, Cecelia would have just turned six, Colin would have been 3 and Molly 5 months. Here goes:

Cecelia hops right on the white chair and is rocking it near me as I get Molly’s diaper off. I can feel Cecelia watching me intently as she rocks. As soon as the diaper comes fully off and I reach for a fresh one, Molly pees everywhere. In my mind I say a bad word but out loud I say, “oh, look, Molly’s peeing everywhere.” I look up at Molly to see her reaction and as she sticks her tongue out, it’s bleeding. I have no idea why it would be bleeding. I say, “Look at that Cecelia, Molly’s tongue is bleeding. We’ve got two things going on now.” I am trying to keep the mood light, mostly for Cecelia. Colin’s on his truck behind me and starts screaming, “Make me a waffle! I am sooo hungry!” Continuing my efforts I say, “Cecelia, three things, Colin needs a waffle.” She responds, now playing along, “Mom, me too, so four things.” We all laugh at this game just a little. Just as I finish getting the fresh diaper on Molly I feel a shooting pain in my ribs and Colin shouts, “Five things, I just kicked you!” Game over. I finally crack, and when I recover, I get to making those waffles.

If I am to wrap this all up with a nice bow I will just say, sometimes parenting is particularly relentless. I don’t suggest searching out silver linings in those moments, unless you feel moved to do so. I don’t. A more attainable response might be to surrender to the moment and refrain from adding any second arrows or kicks to the ribs.

Until next time,

Christine

P.S.

Here’s my latest article that was published last month in Business Insider in reaction to the U.S. Surgeon General’s declaration of parental stress as a public health crisis.