There are days when I feel like I’m failing as a mom. Let’s face it, I’ve probably never accumulated enough points to win “Mom of the Year.” Even before my husband’s illness, I often joked with friends about our parenting missteps—like letting the kids indulge in cookies for breakfast or binge-watching shows instead of tackling homework. I usually found comfort in knowing that, overall, I was doing an okay job.
But today—especially tonight—wasn’t one of those lighthearted moments. It was a day filled with tears, particularly after the kids finally went to bed. The day had been uneventful, marked by excessive screen time that led to restlessness and bickering, culminating in my daughter’s complaint about “leftovers, again” for dinner.
I managed to push through the evening routine: getting everyone showered and ready for bed. This scenario felt familiar, reminiscent of nights when my husband would work late, leaving me to tackle everything on my own. I was used to this, but tonight was different. My daughter needed hair assistance while my older son searched for a specific book, and my youngest was adamant about resisting his diaper. All three needed my attention simultaneously.
Once I finally got the boys settled, my daughter grew impatient, prompting me to rush to her room. This led to chaos as her baby brother followed, resulting in tears and a door slam. Meanwhile, my older son had nestled into my bed, refusing to budge. I moved him back to his own bed three times before I could steal a moment for a shower.
Exhausted and feeling defeated, I heard my son’s small voice: “Mommy, the wind is blowing and there are little twigs falling.” That was it; I snapped. “Just go to bed. Anywhere!”
I had already lost my temper earlier with my daughter over something that now felt insignificant. The only reason I hadn’t raised my voice at my youngest was because he was absorbed in a YouTube video about Minecraft strategies involving zombies—yes, this is actually a thing.
I wasn’t winning any parenting awards tonight, and instead of finding humor in it, I found myself in tears. This moment reminded me of what I missed most: my husband. I longed for those evenings when we would collapse onto our shared bed after putting the kids to sleep, staring at the ceiling and sharing our exhaustion.
I miss the sound of his laughter, the way he softened his voice for the kids, and how he would engage in discussions about world events. I miss seeing him in a tie, but above all, I miss his unwavering partnership through every mundane moment. Those evenings of shared silence, just being together, are irreplaceable.
After freshening up, I found my son still in bed. He blinked sleepily and greeted me, “Hi, Mama. Can I stay here?” I hesitated but eventually agreed, “Okay, just this once.” It’s not the same—far from it—but for one night, I didn’t have to face that blank ceiling alone.
To read more about navigating similar experiences, check out our post on terms and conditions. For additional insights on fertility, visit Make A Mom, an authoritative source on the subject, and don’t forget to consult CDC’s pregnancy resources for valuable information.
In summary, the journey through grief and parenting can be overwhelmingly difficult. The absence of a partner during mundane tasks makes the experience feel heavier. Yet, through moments of vulnerability and connection with our children, we find solace, even if it’s not the same.