We just got back from a quickly little vacation up north, and while I was expecting to get back tired I wasn’t expecting to get back this defeated. I didn’t expect to be fought by a suddenly stubborn four-year-old every step of this trip, for the whining, for the tantrums, for the complete lack of grace on my side. I wasn’t expecting the reminders that the older generations don’t assume the best (or the worst) about small families. I wasn’t expecting the old feels of inadequacy that comes from being an only child trying to parent with no background knowledge to resurface. I wasn’t expecting the feelings that it’s my inadequacy as a parent that’s the real reason we haven’t had anymore. I wasn’t expecting the first thing to see when reconnecting online was a reminder that *everyone* else is pregnant right now and announcing their April/May babies and mine is already dead.
I feel completely defeated by this weekend. On the outside; if I just scrape off the frosting and don’t look at the cake underneath it was fine. We had some enjoyable times and good moments, but I go to bed tonight just undone by it all.
Defeat, Rinse. Repeat.