I’m completely drained to the point of tears, but all I can muster is a sigh because I’m just that worn out. I dread days like this—the kind where I feel utterly depleted before I even rise from bed. Forget a reset button; I’d settle for a stop-delete-and-erase-this-day-from-memory option.
Last night was a blur of chaos with my three little ones, who all had their own ideas about sleep. My youngest, a determined little nibbler, preferred marathon nursing sessions to catching any shut-eye. Meanwhile, my two toddlers joined the ruckus, leading to an unforgettable night. One of them howled like a banshee when his pillow slipped off the bed, while the other demanded a second cup of water because one just wouldn’t do. I felt like a pinball, ricocheting between them as I tried to get them to settle down.
When I finally woke up for the last time, I could feel the heaviness in my bones. I just knew today was going to be one of those dark days—when everything seems to go wrong, everyone’s in a foul mood, and patience runs thinner than ever. Surviving the day feels like an uphill battle, and even that seems daunting.
Just an hour into the day, I had already played referee to three skirmishes, issued one timeout, and witnessed some of the most ludicrous meltdowns. One child lost it over the fact that his shorts lacked pockets, while the other threw a fit because I cut his apple into slices. They even teamed up for a tantrum when I said no to candy for breakfast.
Getting them dressed turned into an Olympic event, with more outfit changes than I care to count. Shorts were deemed too short, pants too long, and there was a complete revolt against shirts. Even their enthusiastic desire for socks resulted in a dramatic rejection of every single pair.
While some of their antics could be chalked up to typical toddler behavior, their stubbornness was particularly fierce that day. Every request I made was met with defiance—“no,” “I don’t wanna,” or the dreaded “Mommy, do it.” The fighting was relentless, from whose T. rex roar was more realistic to squabbles over sitting in the same spot on the couch. The morning culminated in a food fight, with breakfast items being launched onto the floor instead of onto their plates. Seriously, where did the joy go?
Did I mention how exhausted I am? Normally, I have enough energy to flip the mood around, maybe by instigating a silly dance party or a tickle fight. I often rely on humor to break the tension, but today, I just didn’t have it in me.
Even coffee seemed to abandon me, providing no boost at all. I was merely drinking it out of sheer habit, knowing it was too early for wine.
In a moment of desperation, I gathered what little energy I had left and decided to take the kids out, hoping fresh air and a change of scenery might lift our spirits. The park usually does the trick, but not today.
We barely lasted 15 minutes; that was less than the time it took to get everyone ready and drive there. A toy squabble erupted into a full-blown war of screams and tears, leading to a swift exit. Not a single piece of playground equipment was touched. Only my kids could turn a park into a disaster zone. Who doesn’t have fun at a playground?
I realize there’s no remedy for this day except for it to come to an end. No one is happy, and everyone is drained. I can’t imagine how I’ll make it until nap time, let alone bedtime.
We all experience these tough days—I hope I’m not alone in this. When energy is at a premium, even stringing together coherent thoughts feels like too much to ask.
On these days, I sometimes find myself wishing I had a job outside the home, a reprieve from the chaos. I long for family or friends nearby to call for help, a lifeline in the storm.
These are the days nobody warns you about before diving into parenthood. Days filled with an overwhelming sense of fatigue that makes it hard to care for the energetic little beings around you. Days when you want to throw in the towel before it even begins, feeling utterly alone despite the constant presence of your little ones. Days when you can hardly be present because you’re just going through the motions.
These are the moments when the guilt of motherhood weighs heavily, making it hard to breathe. Days when I’d give anything to curl up and escape for a while. Days when even the smallest mishap feels like it could shatter my already fragile world. Days when I’m glued to the clock, wishing for time to speed up, contemplating whether to call my husband for rescue, though embarrassment washes over me because I know he’d come without hesitation.
These are the days I hesitate to discuss for fear of judgment. After all, didn’t I know what I was signing up for with three kids in close succession? Yes, but am I not allowed to have a bad day? Aren’t we all?
While these days may be few and far between, I’m not ashamed to admit they happen. I’m not a bad mom or a bad person. I love my kids and our family, but life isn’t perfect. Motherhood isn’t perfect. I’m certainly not perfect, and that’s perfectly okay.