Recently, my toddler achieved a remarkable milestone in sleep, going three whole nights without a single whimper. Filled with newfound energy, I picked up my 6- and 4-year-olds from school and announced in my best enthusiastic voice, “We’re heading to the beeeeeach!” (You get a beach trip! And you get a beach trip! And you get a beach trip!) The following day, I devoted time to my middle child, who craved some extra attention, by taking him on a delightful tour of Mrs. Grossman’s sticker factory. I even managed to prepare meals for a preschool work shift, support a close friend, and attend a world premiere at the San Francisco Ballet. “Because,” I joyfully shared on social media, “20 months after the arrival of our third child, we finally have a life again.”
However, upon returning home, I was met with a different scene: our baby was starring in “I can’t breathe through my nose.” That night, my sleep was interrupted in 20-minute increments, leaving me feeling as if I had been through a whirlwind of chaos typical of the final night of an extravagant spring break.
The next morning, I found myself entangled in a frustrating phone call regarding our property taxes. Just as I hung up, my 4-year-old climbed onto my bed, declaring, “Read and cuddle now, Mama,” while tossing my beige decorative pillows into a puddle of black paint on the floor. That explained his silence during my call, I thought, as tears unexpectedly welled up. I rushed to the bathroom to let them flow, accompanied by his cries of “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry!”
Sleep deprivation certainly factored into my emotional reaction. There was also the looming threat of a $1,000 penalty at a time when I was pinching pennies to save $1.37 on my least favorite mayo brand. Guilt weighed heavily on me; I yearned to snuggle my little boy and enjoy the joy that my undivided attention could bring, but I also felt the pressing need to accomplish tasks.
Mostly, I attribute my feelings to the dramatic shift from feeling like supermom—soaring high in the realm of accomplishments and enjoying time with my children—to a sudden crash. It felt akin to experiencing whiplash: full speed ahead, feeling invincible, and then, bam—everything comes to a halt. I’ve coined this phenomenon “kidlash.”
Highs and Lows of Parenting
For years, I have tried to articulate this experience, and I have compiled a list of memorable pairs from my parenting journey that capture the highs and lows:
- High: The baby stood up for the first time during breakfast, prompting an eruption of cheers from her older siblings.
- Low: My son, angered that I had to leave to pick up his older sister who was sick, looked me dead in the eye and said, “You are trash.” He meant it literally, but still.
- High: My husband took the kids to the playground, allowing me to luxuriate in a long bath while reading. When I heard their voices, instead of dread, I felt inspired to shout, “Let’s play spa!” My oldest even joined me, offering services like rolling a cup over my head. For once, washing her hair was met with no protests!
- Low: At bedtime, her chatter wouldn’t cease. She kept waking her siblings with random facts like, “Did you know chimpanzees are the closest living thing to humans?” and personal worries about being the shortest in her class. Frustrated, I hissed at her, wiping the smile off her face and cutting off her sharing of life’s concerns.
- High: My son, though sick, was full of cuddles.
- Low: I found myself secretly pleased that he was too sick to move and snuggle with me.
- High: I completed paying the bills with enough time to enjoy my son’s performance of a song about “five little bunnies in a bakery shop.” We even crafted graham cracker bunnies together, erupting into laughter.
- Low: Later that day, his insults toward his sister drove me to anger, and I found myself gripping his jaw to make eye contact while he shouted, “You are the worst mommy!”
These emotional swings are taxing, but the real toll comes from the longer-term kidlash. One evening, while holding my husband’s hand in the dark and listening to classical music as athletes performed gracefully on stage, I thought we were finally emerging from the fog of postpartum life. I could feel the light on my face. Then, a cold virus struck, plunging me back into darkness and making the promise of sleep feel like a distant memory.
This cycle has persisted for six long years. Throughout it all, I’ve managed to hold onto one small victory. After a decade and multiple bedding sets, my husband finally learned that throw pillows cannot be washed and must not be used as head or footrests. Although he teased me about it—comparing it to the food I put out for guests that he isn’t allowed to eat—he still ensures my “ornamental” pillows are placed on a clean surface every night before bed.
I thought those pillows might survive the chaos, that a piece of me could emerge unscathed. And so, I cried. Then, I lost myself in my son’s arms and the enchantment of a good book.
Further Reading
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Summary
Parenting is a tumultuous journey filled with emotional highs and lows that can leave one feeling overwhelmed. The phenomenon of “kidlash” encapsulates the rapid swings in feelings, often leading to moments of joy overshadowed by unexpected challenges. It’s a cycle of triumphs and frustrations that continues to evolve over the years, shaping the experience of parenthood.
Keyphrase: kidlash experiences in parenting
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