Post Pardonne-Moi #2

Tonight I sat and cried on my living room floor. I had a case of post-pardonne-moi. My three-year old crawled into my lap and offered me a hug asking, “What’s wrong mommy? What happened?” I couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t one thing in particular, that the accumulation of the grind of the day, of driving across town to and from his daycare and my work, that sometimes I felt soulless these days and that the mail that I had just opened, a rather large bill, just put me over the edge. He’s three, I’m the adult, I should be able to keep these emotions at bay. I can self-talk or vent with anyone else about any of the things, but not with him, a child.

Sometimes I wonder if this is a form of post-partum. Waves of sadness, of listlessness, of running on absolute empty, in my otherwise happy day. Days where I long for hours without a schedule, to not think about food, to not plan a meal, because I feel like I am constantly in motion, or as a good friend, a mom of two said, I’m always working, but I’m getting nothing done.