Failure. I think I'd be hard pressed to find a single adult on Earth who hasn't felt like a failure at one point or another. Failure is that awful, defeated feeling you get when you crawl into bed at the end of the day and go "well so much for that" or "I never want to live through that again" or "how can I numb my thoughts?".
And the thing is that I know (like, I know-know) that I wasn't a complete failure. I know how hard I am working. I know I've had periods of stagnation in my life, and this is definitely not one of them. I know how much I am capable of and I know I have skimmed the upper limits of it lately, and yet that useless feeling lingers.
It can go like this sometimes:
You force your burning eyes open and drag yourself out of bed at 6:15 am, hold on to to the banister for dear life, and make a bottle of formula for your crying baby. You race against time and take the 30 seconds it's warming to remove 7 items from the dishwasher and put them away. You take the long way around the kitchen to let the dog outside. You pause for 5 seconds in the living room and pick up discarded clothing items from the day before. You climb back up, turn on the hallway light so your older children will start waking, and go comfort the crying baby. You change a diaper, sit her across your lap, feed her the bottle with one hand and check your email with another.
It has become a game, this life. It has become a vital game to see how much productivity you are able to squeeze out of every 30-second increment of your life, so that by the end of the day, you won't have failed completely.
After feeding, you take 30 more seconds to both burp her and hold her close, and you take a few deep breaths of her sweet newborn baby scent, and you soak it up like life points. Then you set her down, change her out of sleeping clothes, and go rouse the boys. And oh yay! They are already awake! That skims a few minutes off of the morning routine. You send the oldest to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, go into their closet and pull out outfits for both. You rush back to your bedroom, pause to find baby's pacifier, and head into the closet to change. Sports bra, t-shirt, leggings, sandals, hair tie. Do you have a minute to brush your teeth? Not today. Oldest is out of the restroom and youngest is potty training, so he needs your help to get in there quickly before tragedy strikes. Luckily you began using the bathroom after the 3am baby feeding, so bladder is relatively empty at this hour.
Now the rush begins. Re-direct 7 year old over and over until he is dressed. Beg, coerce, and bribe 3 year old to use the potty. Fight over who gets toothpaste on their toothbrush first. Find a comb. Grab a child. Hate yourself because he's been asking for a haircut for 2 weeks and you just.cant.find.the.time. Send everybody downstairs. Grab baby, grab discarded empty bottles, grab cellphone, grab burp cloth, grab blanket. Moms have incredible grip strength, by the way.
Find children playing downstairs. Shout the need for shoes. Find car key. Find car seat. Find shoes for everybody. Help 3 year old with shoes. Help 7 year old with homework folder. Make a round of turning off all the lights that somehow turned on within the last 5 minutes. Pick up baby. Feel wetness on baby's back. Ugh. Let go of the multiple random objects you were holding, set baby down, and change a blowout. Do it quickly. She's cold. Boys are hyper. There's already too much noise. Find whatever clothes happen to be downstairs to dress her in. Baby in car seat? Check. Toddler has shoes? Check. 7 year old has backpack? Check. Did we do homework last night? Nobody can remember, so we'll do double tonight.
And now climb in car. Open door 1, let toddler in. Open door 2, put the key in the ignition. Walk around and open door 3, put infant car seat in. Be thankful the oldest can get in on his own and latch his seatbelt. Success! You made it to school early-on-time. Wish him a good day, and instead of driving home, drive to a clothes donation station because those bags can't remain in the trunk of the car any longer.
Rush home, feed toddler, and caffeinate yourself. Make baby comfortable on play mat, let dog inside, clean up more random dishes in the kitchen, and pull out ingredients for crock pot carnitas. Wash some more dishes, and wonder if the rash on the back of your hands will ever go away.
Now it's time to clock in and begin working! And baby is a little hungry, a little uncomfortable, a little lonely, and it's a little too loud for her to rest. You're also a little too busy to interact with your toddler. You're a little too late in replying to emails, messages, requests for help. You have 15 tabs open on the desktop. That is no longer enough, so you have 5 tabs open on your laptop at the kitchen table, so you can work while you sit next to your toddler and lie to yourself and say you "spend time with him in the morning". No you don't. You know you don't. You just glance over and make eye contact and agree to what he says whenever he says MOM MOM MOM too many times in a row.
35 emails and 3 zoom meetings later, you realize your kids have been asking for food for too long. You neglected to take your toddler to the bathroom hours earlier, so now he tells you he's pooped his underwear. You want to get upset. You tell him he needs to poop in the toilet. But it's really your fault. You were about to stand up 2 hours ago to take him, but a message came in and you sat back down to answer it instead.
You don't have time for a meal. Your toddler eats cookies. You eat chips and guacamole, and you keep pushing. Your breaks are getting to sit in the living room while you feed your baby. You run to the garage to switch the laundry over before the last meeting of the day. You hand your toddler the iPad, turn off the tv, and open Zoom for the last time. You turn off your camera at random intervals so you can get up and put the pacifier back in your baby's mouth, because you didn't get a chance to rock her to sleep and she's a bit neglected.
And even though the day just started, it's now school pick-up time. Desktop to sleep. Laptop to sleep. Mouse off. Dog inside. Baby in car seat. Shoes on toddler. Sunglasses on head. Key in hand. Car seat on arm. Lights off all around. And this is your big break. You ALWAYS arrive 40 minutes early for school pickup. It eases your anxiety about not getting there in time, and gives you a break from work because there is only so much that can get done from a cellphone. Triple bonus because sometimes the toddler and the baby fall asleep in the car, and there is nothing like car naps and car silence.
You recognize that at least there is this. At least there has never been a day when your son is wondering where you are. At least you have been a constant at the end of the sidewalk. Rain or shine or 9 months pregnant, at least there is this. Your outstretched hand and your listening ear when the first grade boy says "mom! I did good today!".
So back in the car you go. Seat belts on, music on low, off you go to piano class. But wait. You ALWAYS bring him an after-school snack, but today you forgot! A quick pit stop home for a water bottle and whatever cookies the toddler did not get his hands on.
Piano drop off is done, and thankfully dad can take it from here today. You text him the pickup time anyway, just so he's aware, like he's been aware the last 8 times. Come home, turn tv back on, and don't disturb baby because she loves sleeping in the car seat and that's just what works for everybody at this hour. Answer more emails. Start thinking that "hey, maybe that's enough progress for today, maybe this can wait until tomorrow" Open the clock-out page, and then hear the ping of a Google Meet invite. Just kidding with the clock-out page.
Dad and son arrive, and invite you to grandmas house because grandpa needs help. You had said yes earlier, but it turns out you could use the quiet hour to be productive. It's funny. You took 2 months off work to recover and bond with your newborn baby, but now there's a mess created by your absence, and now you get to both fail at work and fail at motherhood all at once. Let's not even mention marriage.
Guess what? Nobody had time for dinner. Homework took too long. Toddler had another accident. Dad had random calls to make. Baby felt neglected. You were needed everywhere. Everybody who ate did so in a hurry and standing or walking around. Somehow it was already past bedtime, and everyone still needed a shower. Rush to wake, rush to bed, rush rush rush.
With any hope I will be less of a failure tomorrow.
