Last week, my little one reached a remarkable milestone in sleep, managing three uninterrupted nights. Fueled by this newfound energy, I picked up my 6- and 4-year-olds from school and proclaimed in my best Oprah voice, “We’re going to the beeeeeach!” (You get a beach trip! And you get a beach trip! And you get a beach trip!) The following day, I took my middle child, who craved some extra attention, on a delightful visit to Mrs. Grossman’s sticker factory. I even found time to prepare snacks for a preschool shift, lend support to a dear 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, it seems we finally have a life again.”
However, reality hit when we returned home to a different scene: our baby was starring in “I can’t breathe through my nose.” That night, sleep came in fits of 20 minutes, leaving me feeling as though I had just survived an exhausting spring break.
The next morning was spent on the phone sorting out our property taxes. Just as I hung up, my 4-year-old climbed onto my bed, declared, “read and cuddle now, Mama,” and tossed my decorative pillows into a pool of black paint on the floor. So, that’s how he managed to remain quiet during the call, I thought, as tears unexpectedly filled my eyes. I hurried to the bathroom to let them flow, while his cries of “I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m sorry!” followed me.
Sleep deprivation was certainly a factor in my emotional response, but there was also the looming $1,000 penalty on my mind, during a time when I was opting for my least favorite mayonnaise brand to save $1.37. Guilt washed over me. I wanted to embrace my son and enjoy the smiles that my undivided attention could bring, but I also felt the weight of unfinished tasks pressing down on me.
Mostly, I blame the sudden fall from a high point. Feeling like a supermom—on top of everything, thriving in my accomplishments and fully enjoying my kids—makes the inevitable low points feel even more crushing. It’s like whiplash: one moment soaring, the next plummeting.
I term this phenomenon “kidlash.” After years of trying to articulate this experience, I’ve compiled a list of contrasting moments that capture the highs and lows of parenting:
- High: The baby stood up for the first time at breakfast, prompting an explosion of cheers from her older siblings.
- Low: My son, upset that I had rushed home for his sick sister, looked me in the eye and said, “You are trash.” He meant it literally, but it still stung.
- High: My husband took the kids to the playground, allowing me to indulge in an extended bath. When their voices echoed down the hall, the usual dread transformed into excitement for a “spa day.” My oldest even joined me, pampering me with a cup rolled over my scalp.
- Low: At bedtime, my daughter wouldn’t stop talking, waking her siblings with random facts and concerns, and I snapped at her, extinguishing her joy.
- High: My son, too sick to move, showered me with cuddles.
- Low: Ironically, I found joy in his illness, relishing every cuddle.
- High: I finished paying the bills and enjoyed a song from my son about “five little bunnies in a bakery shop.”
- Low: When he hurled insults at his sister later, I lost my temper, grabbing his jaw to force eye contact, leading to a dramatic declaration that I was “the worst mommy.”
These hourly shifts in emotions can be exhausting, but the deeper, more profound shifts of kidlash over months and years are what truly drain me. Sitting in the dark one evening, holding my husband’s hand while classical music filled the room, I thought we were finally emerging from the postpartum haze. But then a cold virus swept through the family, plunging me back into chaos, with the promise of rest feeling just out of reach once again.
This rollercoaster has persisted for six years. Throughout it all, I’ve managed to hold onto one small victory. After a decade and various sets of bedding, my husband learned that throw pillows are not for resting heads or feet. He may have teased me about it—“So it’s like the food you put out at a party that I can’t eat because it’s too good?”—but he still placed my ornamental pillows on a clean surface every night before bed. I thought they had survived unscathed, but when I saw the paint-splattered pillows, I couldn’t help but cry.
Then, I lost myself in my son’s embrace and the joy of a good book.
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Summary:
Parenting is a wild ride filled with emotional highs and lows. Moments of joy can quickly turn to frustration, creating a phenomenon I call “kidlash.” Despite the challenges, finding small victories, like managing throw pillows, can bring solace. Embracing both the chaos and the precious moments is essential in navigating family life.