Why I let my kids watch TV, even though I'm against it

I am tired. I am tired of being tired. In my 982 days (and counting) of parenthood I have not had one good night's sleep. I am exhausted, on a downward spiral towards depression. 

And I am no stranger to sleep deprivation. I've been an insomniac since I was 16. I know all about tossing and turning for hours on end, watching as the black of night slowly turns into a sunny day. At university I had skipped classes, simply because I happened to finally fall asleep and I wasn't going to let a mere class stand in the way of sleep.

Even though I've had a rocky relationship with my sandman, I love to sleep. I could stay in bed for twelve hours if someone let me. 

Of course, since I was blessed with motherhood, things have changed. I am woken every hour or less and have to breastfeed a little being, keeping it alive and happy. This has kept the insomnia at bay to some extent, but it has thrown me into utter exhaustion. The last thing I think of each night is a good stretch (not night...) of sleep, hoping desperately for three hours of uninterrupted sleep, and the first thing I think of in the morning is sleep, wishing the night went more smoothly, wishing for two kiddies to close their eyes again and let me sleep a little more. 

I'm sure you are aware or familiar with the effects of sleep deprivation: 

This can turn me into a witch at times and I feel like the worst mother on earth. If only I could sleep more, then I'd be a great mom all the time! 

So, when I feel homicidal/suicidal, I turn to the TV to entertain my darlings while I relax (or experience the illusion of relaxing). I figure that a few hours of kiddy TV shows isn't as bad for my kids as homicide...

Do I know that TV is bad for my kids? Yes, absolutely. 

Do I care? Of course.

Do I have the energy to entertain them myself? Nope. Not even a little bit. 

Do I hate my life? Maybe sometimes. 

Do I love my children? Yes!

Do I regret becoming a parent? No!

Do I want to hide in a corner and cry myself to sleep? Sometimes. 

Do I feel like this all the time? Yes and no. Yes, I am tired every single day, no, I'm not depressed all the time. 

I wish I had more energy, was less irritable, and accomplished more during the day. I pray for more sleep so I can be a better mother and wife. But it doesn't happen.

Sometimes I wish that I can skip ahead to where my kids sleep better, but then I remember that I'd also be missing out on the wonders of infants and toddlers. I'd miss the smiles, the hugs, the bursts of laughter, the amazement when they master a new skill, the cuteness of developing language, their awesome imagination and the unconditional love and adoration they have for me and their father. 

With all that has gone wrong and through all my witchy irritable days, I still think that my kids are the most wonderful blessing from God and I love them dearly. I try my best to enjoy them with the little energy that I do have. And tonight, once again, I will pray for a good night and I trust that God will give it to me when it is also in His will. Maybe I'll see His purpose for me going through this today or tomorrow or when I'm brave enough to see it. 

Today was one of "those" days...

Being a stay-at-home-mom to a 2 1/2 year old boy and his 5 month old sister takes its toll sometimes. Especially since I am an "attachment parenting"-parent and breastfeeding both kiddos. So I drew myself a deep, hot bubblebath and had a glass of wine Hubby so thoughtfully brought me to unwind (thus the title of this blog).

Let me give some context:
Last night Hubby was on call (he's a doctor currently studying to become a radiologist) and usually I am super-mom on a post-call day, since I know that Hubby will be extra tired and in need of some pampering. But not today. Last night I struggled to get the kids to bed and in turn had a very interrupted night's sleep with a baby nursing every 2 hours and a toddler who kicks me in his sleep.
So today I was a little bruised myself. But I was still strong for my over-tired Hubby. Oh, and did I mention that we're moving in four days? Yeah, so I'm packing in between everything as well (or trying to and failing miserably...).

When Hubby took his nap things all went south... fast. Baby was supposed to fall asleep soon after Hubby, but I was bouncing and swaying for half an hour before her eyes finally closed. All the while my son was playing sweetly on his own outside. But of course, as soon as Baby's eyes closed, he came thrashing inside with his toy car. He responded well when I asked him to be quiet and was even eager to park his car in the garage. And then came the melt-down. The garage door was locked. Unbeknownst to me, Hubby had locked it just before taking his nap.
Now, with a crying baby in one hand and a screaming toddler I had to unlock the door with one hand to let the boy in so he can park his car a choose a quieter toy. After fumbling the boy could get in and was instantly quiet, but I had missed the window for Baby's nap. This meant that she won't dink (stubborn little girl), which meant that she'd stay awake and hungry until toddler dinner time, go to bed early which in turn meant that she would either wake at some point during the night, refuse to go to sleep for and hour and a half or wake up at 4:30 or 5:00. Just the prospects of this made me want to cry.
Now I'm bouncing on the ball again, desperately trying to avoid the horrible prospects for the night to come. But now my son has also become whiny. He wants attention and he was going to make sure he gets it. Half an hour of this later I am frustrated beyond words and carelessly plops Baby down on her  play mat, ignore Toddler and rush out of the room. I wanted to break something, anything, just to get this frustration out of me. A single sound out of Baby or a word from Toddler would push me over the edge. Yes, smash a glass! But then I'll have to clean up and probably cut my bare feet in the process, so that wasn't an option. Instead I made scrambled eggs for toddler's dinner, park him in the high chair and raid the pantry for some fudge. I bounce Baby again, me on the verge of tears, taking tiny bites out of the only block of fudge in the house.
Finally Hubby wakes up and Baby falls asleep. This is the time that I draw a bath and get away.

I lay there in the bubbles, eyes closed and thought that this was the only me-time I've had in the past... how many months? I shave my legs for the first time in a month (gross, I know, but there just wasn't any time!), I file my grandma cracked heels and I start to feel more like a human and less like a rabid werewolf. I realised that I need more me-time just to collect myself and avoid crazy emotional outbursts like these. Writing it down, it doesn't even sound so bad, but in the moment it was the worst day (okay, hour, but it felt like a day!) and I felt trapped and alone.

That's also the time I decided I had to write these feelings down, but it's too much for a Facebook post and I don't have a blog. And that's why there is a blog now. And why it's a standard template without a fancy header or witty anything. I just needed to get this out, like therapy.
Maybe there are other moms who occasionally feel this way and they won't feel so alone if they read this. Or maybe no one in the world will read it, but who cares. This is for me, my therapy. And now I feel better. Dead tired, but better. Let's hope the night pans out better than I thought...