It is there, and it creeps up like a silent killer.
Maybe it is the wet underwear that you found floating in the hallway bathroom. Or the cat food that has been flung out on the floor like tiny marbles waiting to trip up a passerby. Or the loud thumping and yelling and tantruming as if we live in some sort of primal age where roaring and beating your chest were the only way to get other’s attention.
And all of that madness and anger? It wasn’t the kids. It was me. The mother. The one who left a pair of Superman undies in a bathroom we rarely use for days, fed the cat without my glasses after someone else forgot, and the loud, obnoxious, downright scary human being I can be when I have just had more than I can handle.
That’s the kind of thing that happens when you allow satan, the silent killer to steal your motherhood.
No, it’s not the mistakes. It’s not the forgetfulness. It is what happens on the inside that no one else sees. And he knows just how to get to you.
He admires you, you know. But only when you yell at your kids, complain about tasks that need to be done regardless of how many people are in your home. He loves it when you wish you were the mom with the skinny jeans and tall boots and shiny hair with the perfectly groomed kids at the mall play area. You look at her and think you are sub-par. Satan loves that.
Satan also loves it when you get scared because someone posted a random video online of how their four year old can read, so you freak out that YOUR four year old is more interested in roaming outdoors and playing with bobby pins and giving them names, so you panic because books are the last thing on her mind. Satan is clapping now.