Mom on Strike

We went away for the weekend to the Rocking Horse Ranch in the Catskills. And while none of us actually went on a trail ride, Genny did get to go on Pony rides. There were indoor and outdoor water slides, pools, a lake with boating of all kinds, and lots of food.

In between a few intestinal issues for a few members of the family, everybody had a good time.

So, imagine my annoyance when after a fun-filled weekend, Genny started in on her “I hate Mommy” antics at dinner last night.

For some reason, a new part of me snapped and I announced, “I’m on strike! I’m not having this new baby until I feel like I live in a loving family.”

Take that, cranky girl!

“I don’t care.”

Fine. I sat there and seethed in my anger.

“OK, then…well, I’m going to take the new baby and go away somewhere where people love me.”

I got a big pouty look.

After Genny excused herself, Nick looked at me and said, “What was that all about?”

That’s when it hit me. My mood swings have been quite erratic lately. I’m not giving myself enough acknowledgement that being 33-weeks pregnant in the heat of the summer with wild hormones rushing through me is taking its toll.

I can’t control my feelings. When I’m angry—watch out—it’s coming out. When I’m sad—I’m just bawling my eyes out wherever I am. I can’t control it and I just have to accept it right now.

I hope my family can, too.

Genny runs back into the kitchen, beaming.

“Come into the living room everybody!”

Nick carries Cole and I lug my aching body towards the living room. A sign hangs on the doorway: To Mom. Genny.

As I walk in, Genny tosses homemade rainbow confetti on my head. She’s beaming. I sit on the living room table as she sprinkles colors across my face. I push away the thoughts about how when Genny does something nice for me it usually means a big mess for me to clean up.

She did it for me. And I really do feel loved.