I didn’t like motherhood yesterday.

I didn’t like it at all.

I lost my shit the first time around 8 am, when I couldn’t complete a single diaper change, without a barrel-rolling soon-to-be-toddler. It didn’t help at all that it was a poopy diaper, and poop kept getting smeared on a freshly cleaned changing pad sheet with every roll.

I lost my shit the second time around 11 am, when an extremely overtired soon-to-be-toddler would scream bloody murder, every single time I would try to put him in the crib for a nap.

I lost my shit the third time around 2 pm, when a very hungry soon-to-be-toddler would grunt and smack the spoon out of my hand, every single time I would try to feed him a spoonful. The photo evidence is below of what his face looked like the entire time.

I lost my shit the 4th time around 5 pm, when a soon-to-be-toddler found zero satisfaction in any toy placed in front of him. He would just throw it and scream in my face.

Today was just a day with no patience.

I just had it being screamed at.

I just had it getting food spit in my face.

I just had it getting my back broken with the constant pick-up and put-down.

I just had it with the sleepiness but not sleeping.

I just had it.

Since I’m home alone with him all day and my husband heads out to the office every day, I try very hard to not text him and vent, but I couldn’t help it.

I picked up my phone and my thumbs angrily went to work.

“I hate today.”

As soon as I sent it, a rush of mom-guilt swept over me.

My husband did his best to console me from afar, but I just felt bad.

The word hate is strong, I know.

I blamed it on the frustration. I blamed it on the loneliness.

I felt ugly for the rest of the day. Every single time I raised my voice in frustration, my son would look deep into my eyes, as trying to understand what he was doing wrong to make me so upset.

Only, he’s 11 months old and doesn’t understand.

I beat myself up for it over and over again.

But there was something that I had to remind myself of.

No, I didn’t like motherhood yesterday.

I didn’t like it at all.

But it’s okay that I didn’t like it.

We don’t HAVE to like motherhood every day.

We can’t beat ourselves up for it, either.

We’re still great moms.

We’re going to have bad days. Heck, we’re going to have REALLY bad days.

We’re going to have days that make us constantly miss our lives before we had kids. We’re going to have days that we find ourselves locked in the bathroom, crying hysterically. We’re going to have days that our kids have pushed every last one of our buttons and we are so close to the edge.

After all that, though, there’s going to be GREAT days.

Days where we look around our messy houses, with the overflowing sinks, the unfolded laundry, the cluttered kitchen counters, the dining room table full of crumbs, and the disaster zone playrooms, and think of how unbelievably lucky we are.

Days where we can’t find one single thing to complain about.

Regardless of the good or bad days, our hearts will always be filled with love for our kids.

And the greatest part is, our kids will always love us back.

This post was originally published on the author's Facebook.