There are days when I sing and dance and play and laugh with my friends, with my hubby, with our daughter. I listen to music and feel all light-hearted and bubbly and warm with the glow of contentment.

Today is not one of those days. Neither was yesterday. Nor the day before. It seems to be getting worse as each day goes by.

I'm tired and I have a headache that has lasted for two days. I have a backache that has lasted for the better part of two weeks. I seem to be a little short-tempered and have a total lack of patience for other people. I hate my hair and I feel dumpy. My clothes don't seem to fit properly. (This doesn't apply to my stretchy leggings and any of Hubby's cast-off t-shirts.) I can feel a little vein on the side of my head pulsing ever so slightly. I don't feel like eating, but seem to be a bottomless pit when I do. Hello. My name is Sybil. Is my rubber room all ready for me?

I want to just crawl under my desk and hide, although curling up under the covers to hide might be a better solution. It doesn't matter as long as everyone just leaves me alone. That way I won't upset anyone.

I hate this. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It's not always this bad. On top of all of this, I feel guilty for not being a nicer person, and especially for not being a better Mom. Punkin has just been her routine toddler self the past few days and I'm just being driven batty by it. She's not doing what I asked fast enough. She's dawdling, she's stalling. She's not listening.

They have instituted a hand-washing policy at the school. Any time you go into one of the classrooms, you have to wash your hands. If you go from one room to the other, you wash your hands. It's a rule. It's a routine. Punkin just simply refused to do it this morning, choosing instead to climb all over the little reading area and spending a full five minutes putting a hat on a doll. For ten minutes I chanted "Come wash your hands. It's time to wash your hands now. You have to wash your hands. Mommy has to get to work." (I'm reminded of the Bill Cosby skit in which he says "Comehere,comehere,comehere!" to his kids and talks about "Jeffery" on the plane.) I pulled out all the tricks this morning, and even carried her to the sink once only to have her scamper away and climb back up to the reading area. When I realized I was near to tears from the frustration of not being able to get her to wash her hands, ( ! ) I waved the proverbial white flag. I told her favorite teacher that Punkin had not washed her hands, I was having a bad day, and I had to just go now. She smiled in understanding and wished me a good day.

Punkin, I'm so sorry that I snap at you sometimes. I know you don't understand. I want to have all the patience in the world. I want to share your excitement and wonderment. I want to be the picture of stability for you. I don't want to ever break down and cry in front of you for what seems and feels like no reason. I want to have energy to do things with you. I keep thinking that if I can just get to bed early and have a good night's rest, I'll be ok. Things will be better. I did that last night. Things are worse today.

Those without children do not help my emotional state this time around. I'm finding that people without kids do not understand the need to have some time to myself. "You dropped her off at daycare when you had the day off? She watches video tapes by herself? Well, that just doesn't seem right." Or, they quietly withdraw and their silent recriminations hang in the air. Anything I say now just sounds like an excuse. Yes, I'm a bad mother. I understand. Thank you for pointing that out. I'll be on my way now.

People without children don't know that I sing and dance with our daughter. We paint, we play, we read to her, we go for walks, we take bubble baths. She runs back and forth between Hubby and I, giving hugs and kisses to each and getting them back in return. She doesn't just sit and watch television all day. We don't ignore her. There are some times when The Parents need to get a task or two accomplished, or need 30 minutes of inactivity, and no, it can't always wait for her nap time. What do I know? Maybe they will make better parents someday. More power to them. I hope that's the case.

I see the kids playing on the hill. Our daughter is out there waving to me. I heard her (from inside the building!) call "MOM!" and I couldn't stop myself. I went out to give her hugs and kisses. It was a good break in the morning, but now Punkin stands off by herself, waiting for me to come back to the window, to come back outside and play with her. She told me "I want you, Mommy." I knew then that I'd made a mistake. Now I stand by my window, but far enough back so she can't see me and silently will her to rejoin her friends and play on the hill again. She is upset now that I've "gone" and her teacher consoles her. Erika tries to console me. I tell Punkin that I'm sorry I made her sad, but she can't hear me. I feel like my heart is breaking for her and I make myself a promise that I won't run out to the hill to get kisses and hugs again. No matter how much I want to.

Bleh. Bleh. Bleh. Hang on everyone. It may be dark for a minute or two, but I'll see you in the sunshine on the other side. Soon. I promise.

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