Day 193: Anger management for moms

A lot happens to a girl due to the miracle of birth: her boobs sag, her stomach pouches, her hips widen, and though I've yet to understand the crucial role the ass plays in the process, it somehow manages to expand as well. But I've also noticed other less obvious changes. One is that I've been bestowed with super-human hearing. I can be in the living room with the TV blaring and if Maddie so much as rolls over in her crib, I'll hear it. I'll wake up from a dead sleep at the slightest sound from her room. (Meanwhile, Fernando seems able to slumber through a 2am screeching session. Funny how that works, isn't it?) But perhaps the biggest change has been in my general temperment.

I thought that motherhood was supposed to teach you patience, but so far it has had the opposite effect on me. Or maybe it's just that I expend every ounce of my patience on Maddie and as a result have none left for the rest of the world. I like to think that I've always been a pretty calm, easy-going gal. Not anymore. The smallest things irritate me. My poor husband is beginning to realize that the sweet girl he married is actually a crazy person. Last night we were sitting on the couch watching Grey's Anatomy (love it), Maddie was sleeping, all was well. The dog started barking in the other room, so Fernando yelled at her to be quiet. I lost my mind. I went from 0 to 9.5 on the rage scale in about 2 seconds. I think it went something like this: "Everybody just shut up!! All day long the dogs are barking, cats screeching, people yelling, babies screaming, the idiot across the street is revving his stupid motorcycle! Can't I have one frickin' moment of peace and quiet around here?!?" I think Fernando may have actually been afraid for a minute. But he can take solace in the fact that he is not my only target. People who don't board the bus in an orderly fashion receive outraged glares. The woman in line ahead of me at the grocery store who decides to count out her change in pennies and nickels is lucky to even survive my wrath. And I hit a new low the other day as I was trying to maneouvre the stroller around an old lady in the mall - complete with cane - and I found myself silently cursing her in my mind.

Who am I? What have I become? This is not the serene image of motherhood I'd envisioned: sitting in a rocking chair, baby at my breast, knitting booties and sipping chamomile tea. Instead I spend half my day in a frenzy of irritation and frustration and am as a result considering changing my evening happy hour drink from chilled white wine to hard liquor. Whiskey, anyone?